Mobius
by Shipperx
Summary: When Scully is assigned to investigate the disappearance of a physicist she discovers the last thing she ever expected. . .Mulder
1. Mobius Part I

TITLE: Mobius   
AUTHOR: L.A. Ward  
EMAIL ADDRESS: LAWard@aol.com   
URL: www.hometown.aol.com/laward/eclectic.html  
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Sure, just let me know.  
SPOILER WARNING: Anything through Season 7  
including Requiem  
RATING: PG-13 (for language)  
CLASSIFICATION: X/MSR/A  
  
X-file casefile with Mytharc  
MSR  
Scully Angst/Mulder Angst   
  
SUMMARY: While investigating the disappearance of  
a physicist, Scully finds someone she didn't   
expect--Mulder.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Never mine. Wish they were,   
but they belong to Chris. Have no money so don't  
bother to sue.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I cannot say enough nice things for   
the wonderful people who undertook the task of beta   
reading. Thanks to all of them, but special thanks to  
Shari, Rosemary, and Fran.  
  
  
  
****************************************************  
"All we communicate to others is an orientation  
towards what is secret. . ."  
Gaston Bachelard  
The Poetics of Space  
****************************************************  
  
PROLOGUE  
  
  
Georgetown Memorial Hospital  
Washington, D.C.   
4:15 am   
  
The dark was comforting. It was uniform, unchanging and   
peaceful with only the dull murmur of sound somewhere in   
the distance. No one sound was distinct. They all rolled   
together in a low, muted hum--white noise in a black   
room--and she listened to it intently as if by listening   
hard enough she could immerse herself in it.   
  
Someone shoved open the door and light blinded her.  
  
"Doctor!" the nurse said. "We need you."  
  
Grabbing her lab coat, she followed the nurse from the   
on-call room into the green tiled hallway. "What have   
we got?" she asked as a paramedic crashed through the   
E.R.'s double doors leading a gurney.  
  
"Male. Mid to late thirties," the medic answered. "B.P.   
ninety over sixty. Pulse one-ten and irregular. Appears   
to be in psychogenic shock."  
  
"Transportation time?" she asked as they entered the   
trauma room.  
  
"Twenty minutes. Four liters oxygen. One I.V.   
normal saline."   
  
She nodded and crossed to the other side of the gurney   
ready to transfer the patient to the examining table.   
"On my count. One, two, now." After the transfer she   
took out a penlight and shone it into the man's eyes.   
  
"Pupils sluggish." She glanced at the nurse and   
instructed, "We need a chem 20. Type and cross. Two   
units."  
  
"He's tachy," an intern called.   
  
She nodded and looked at the cardiac monitor  
registering a pulse rate of 120 and rising.   
A heart couldn't sustain that rhythm long   
without failing. She called for digoxin even  
as the monitor hit 130 then 135. Her gut  
clenched when his pulse spiked to 150.  
  
"Is he going to crash?" the intern asked.   
  
Before she could answer the patient flatlined.   
Frown lines creased her brow as the high pitched   
whine filled the room. She hated that sound. She   
hated to admit defeat, and when she looked into her   
patient's face she refused to accept it.  
  
"Crash cart," she called.  
  
She grabbed the defibrillator paddles and rubbed   
conductive fluid over them. "Charge. 200 joules."  
  
Everyone stepped back. She shocked the patient. He   
arched from the bed and her eyes rose to look at the   
monitor. Grimacing she ordered, "300. And . .   
.clear!" Again the man arched from the bed.  
  
The intern shook his head.  
  
"Charge 360," she ordered and laid the paddles against   
the unknown man's bare skin. Again electricity rushed   
violently through him, but this time it was different.   
His heart took on a normal rhythm. She nodded and   
systematically began looking for any sign of   
injury. There was nothing obvious.   
  
The patient suddenly, miraculously became conscious. He   
grabbed her arm and looked her straight in the eyes. Her   
breath caught. It was as if all motion in the room   
receded to some silent distance, and her entire being   
focused on this one glance. She read recognition in his   
hazel eyes.   
  
"Scully," he whispered, then lost his battle for   
consciousness.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
***************************************************  
"God does not play dice." - Albert Einstein  
  
"But all evidence indicates that God is an inveterate  
gambler, and he throws the dice on every possible  
occasion."   
Stephen Hawking, "Black Holes and Baby Universes"  
****************************************************  
  
CHAPTER ONE  
  
Cornell University  
Ithaca, New York   
9:12am   
  
Special Agent Dana Scully parked the gray rental car in   
the administrative parking lot of Clark Hall. She felt   
tired and cranky after yet another sleepless night, and   
if she was honest she also felt somewhat resentful of   
this assignment.   
  
Yesterday she had sat in Mulder's office reviewing old   
case files--and she still thought of it as Mulder's   
office. Others had begun calling it hers, but not   
Scully. She had been on the verge of completing a stack   
of papers nearly as tall as herself when a stranger   
coughed to catch her attention.   
  
After nearly eight years of working in the basement,   
building maintenance had arrived to install her name on   
the office door. She had scowled, then waved the man   
away, saying that she was busy and didn't want to be   
disturbed. The truth was she didn't want anything in   
the office disturbed. Something, even if it was just   
this dingy, cluttered room, had to remain the same.  
  
"Are you sure?" he asked in a quiet southern drawl.   
"Don't know when I'll be by here again.   
  
"I'm sure," she said firmly. "The door stays the way it   
is."   
  
Scully's actions had obviously been reported to Skinner   
because an hour later he stood almost, but not quite,   
hidden beyond the doorway. She could see him shifting   
awkwardly from foot to foot looking reluctant to be   
there. Scully had become used to that look. Lately every   
person had it before crossing the threshold. She could   
almost hear them debate, "Should I offer condolences? Or   
behave as if nothing has happened?"   
  
Of course, Skinner's choices were more limited. He   
couldn't behave as if nothing had happened. He knew the   
truth--or most of it anyway--and perhaps because of that   
he was more awkward than anyone else. Scully saw the   
moment of decision cross his face and straighten his   
spine before he manufactured a businesslike attitude   
and approached her. He walked briskly into the room   
and placed a file on the desk.  
  
"An X-File?" she asked.  
  
"Not exactly."  
  
Scully lifted her eyes and gave him a calm, questioning   
stare. Seconds ticked by then Skinner explained, "It's   
a missing person."  
  
"Then why bring it to me?"  
  
"Open the file."  
  
She glanced down at the pages contained inside the   
manila folder. A name jumped out at her. She lifted a   
surprised gaze. "Steven Doerstling?"  
  
Skinner nodded. "He disappeared Tuesday, but the local   
authorities have kept this below the media radar."  
  
Steven Doerstling was a brilliant mathematician and   
physicist whose name was frequently used in the same   
breath as Einstein's. Always brilliant, after a spinal   
injury in his teens left him a quadriplegic, he had   
turned his focus inward and in the last thirty years   
had produced breathtakingly inspired leaps in   
theoretical physics. His disappearance would spark   
a media feeding frenzy.   
  
"He's famous," Scully said, "but what does this have   
to do with me?"  
  
"His research is funded by the U.S. Government through   
the National Science Foundation."  
  
"So strings were pulled and the case was brought to the   
FBI," she concluded.  
  
"Yes, strings were pulled."  
  
"This isn't an X-File." And the implication hung in the   
air that she was still committed to the X-Files. She   
was more committed than ever. As long as Mulder was   
missing she would follow any thread for even the most   
tenuous link to him. As if to prove that fact, she had   
spent the last month in a futile search of Bellefleur,   
Oregon--the place where she had first come to trust   
Mulder and where ultimately she had lost him. In the   
end all she found was the orange X he had painted on the   
road nearly eight years earlier.   
  
Slowly Scully realized the office had been quiet for   
too long. Skinner stood staring at the poster behind   
the desk. "I Want to Believe" hung over her head, and   
she knew they were both aware of the irony in the words.   
She had never wanted to believe. She resisted at   
every turn and used science as a shield.  
  
"I realize that technically this isn't an X-File,"   
Skinner told her. "But there's no agent as suited to   
this case as you. There aren't many of us with degrees   
in physics."  
  
She should have known this was an offer she wasn't   
allowed to refuse when he had arrived in the basement   
instead of summoning her to his office as protocol   
demanded. Seeing no alternative, Scully had accepted   
the assignment and boarded a plane bound for Ithaca,   
New York at eight a.m. this morning.   
  
Even as she drove through the picturesque city Scully   
was aware of the underlying reason she had been given   
the assignment. Skinner had thought, "Take her out of   
the basement. Give her something to do other than   
bury herself in silence and memories." He was being   
thoughtful, kind, solicitous...and she hated it.   
  
She wasn't some porcelain doll that had been broken   
then pieced together. She wasn't on the verge of  
falling apart. Scully was a professional, a doctor,   
and an agent who knew how to keep the unbearable at   
a distance. Brick by emotional brick she built a wall   
between her functional state and her dysfunctional   
baggage. Of course by now the wall approached the size   
of the Hoover Dam, but Scully would deal with that   
later. The point Scully kept stressing was that she   
was in control. She could handle herself. There   
was no reason for Skinner to look concerned. She   
was fine. She was just fine.   
  
Once she found a parking space, Scully glanced out   
the car window. Unlike most of Cornell which tended   
toward Gothic Revival architecture, this building was   
stark and dated, looking like some uninspired   
regurgitation of textbook Modernism. She stepped out   
of the car then stopped to fight a sudden wave of   
nausea. Laying her hand on the hood, she took a deep   
breath and waited for the world to stop spinning.   
When it did, Scully continued forward as if nothing   
had happened.   
  
X X X  
  
Mike Stilgoe sat playing air guitar in his five by eight   
foot office on the third floor of Clark Hall--though   
calling it an office seemed like absurd exaggeration. It   
was a closet with a desk. With his eyes closed he   
belted out the lyrics, "Black hole sun won't you come   
and wash away the rain--"   
  
He stopped abruptly and reached to turn down the volume.   
Shit, someone was in the hall. He hurriedly exited the   
program. All he needed was Professor Blackwood on his   
ass about using department computers to download MP3s.   
"File Transfer Error!" popped up on screen. Well, of   
course there was an error. He was trying to exit for   
Christ's sake. The computer locked. Damn. It crashed.   
Shit. And whoever it was out in the hall was closer. He   
could hear. . .   
  
He closed his eyes and called himself an idiot. That   
wasn't Professor Blackwood out there. It was a woman   
and from the staccato clicks of her heels against the   
linoleum he'd guess it was a woman on a mission.   
  
Leaning back, Stilgoe opened the door a crack and   
revised his opinion. Make that a very striking woman   
on a mission. She was dressed almost completely in   
black which around here usually meant a chain smoking   
art student spouting existentialist bullshit, but this   
one was dressed way too formally for that. And she   
didn't look like an escapee from the architecture   
department either. Stilgoe frowned. She was too old   
to be a student, and too businesslike to be a   
professor. Maybe administration, but he doubted it.   
She looked out of place. Around here, her crisply   
tailored appearance was almost exotic.   
  
She saw him, and as purposefully as she had searched the   
hall she now walked toward him. "Excuse me," she said in   
a low, mellifluous voice that suddenly made him glad   
that he was stuck logging statistics on a Saturday   
morning. "Would you know where I might find Professor   
Blackwood?"   
  
"In his office?"  
  
She shook her head. "I knocked. There was no answer."  
  
"Must be out with CLEO then."   
  
"Is there a way that I could reach them?"  
  
Stilgoe frowned. "Them?" Enlightenment dawned. "Oh,   
you mean Professor Blackwood and CLEO. CLEO isn't a   
person, Ms...?"  
  
"Scully." She produced a badge. "I'm with the Federal   
Bureau of Investigation. I was hoping to speak with   
Professor Blackwood about a current case."  
  
"Doerstling's disappearance, I bet." At her mildly   
surprised look he explained, "Nothing escapes the   
physics department grapevine."  
  
Scully nodded. "You were saying about Professor   
Blackwood?"  
  
"Oh yeah, well, CLEO isn't a person. CLEO is part of   
the CESR--that's the Cornell Electron Storage Ring."  
  
"He would be there now?"  
  
"Well if he isn't in his office going over the results   
of last week's test, he'll be down there preparing for   
Monday's."  
  
"How would I find my way there?" she asked.  
  
Belatedly he jumped to his feet and extended his hand.   
"Oh, um, I'm Mike Stilgoe. I'm a grad student and sort   
of Professor Blackwood's assistant. If you want, I'll   
take you down there."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
That's all she said. He shook his head. A beautiful   
woman who didn't talk much. When did creatures like   
that start to exist? As Mike gathered his books he   
glanced over his shoulder. "So what's it like being   
an FBI agent?"   
  
"Interesting," Scully answered in a way that made him   
think a million words could have been said but hadn't.   
She was a sphinx. Beautiful, enigmatic, and remote.  
  
X X X  
  
Scully waited patiently for the grad student to shove   
his books into his backpack. He was a gangly kid with   
a two day growth of beard and a bad hair day. She   
remembered the type from her own days in the physics   
department, but that had been a lifetime ago. Idly   
she wondered if he thought her answers had been abrupt.   
If he did, he was probably right. But how could she   
describe her work when she couldn't make sense of it   
herself?  
  
At some mysterious, indefinable point the X-Files had   
ceased to be a job and had become her life. If Scully   
walked away from the FBI tomorrow, the X-Files would   
still consume her. There was no escape. There was   
nothing else. Everything Scully had ever loved or   
believed had been stripped from her with agonizing   
precision, and yet...And yet everything that gave her   
life meaning was also bound to this search for answers,   
for truth...for Mulder. All Scully knew was she couldn't   
stop. She couldn't rest, and there was nowhere to go   
but forward because looking back wasn't an option.  
  
They stepped into the hall and Stilgoe locked his   
office door. Scully asked, "Has the physics department   
grapevine said anything about Dr. Doerstling's   
disappearance?"  
  
He shrugged, "Oh it's said a lot, but not anything   
that means much. I mean there's been a lot of   
speculation. How exactly does a guy who has almost no   
use of his arms and requires a constant caregiver just   
disappear without a trace? It's creepy, you know. It's   
not like he would go anywhere else. This is where his   
work is, and his work is all he has."  
  
Scully empathized. "Did anything unusual happen the   
night he disappeared?"  
  
"No, not really. Well, there was this party. The   
results of Tuesday's test came back and there was some   
bitching b quark data."  
  
Scully searched through her somewhat dim memory of her   
time as a physics undergrad for some reference to what   
Stilgoe was talking about. A vague answer surfaced, and   
it struck Scully that if you asked what the universe   
was made of, your answer would depend on who you asked.   
If she asked Mulder, no doubt he would recite a list of   
creation myths as long as her arm. If you asked a   
biologist, there would be talk of cells, and a chemist   
would begin a discussion of molecules and atoms.   
However, theoretical physicists looked for something   
more fundamental. Their grail was the indivisible   
building block of all things. Atoms had once been   
considered these structures, then protons, neutrons,   
and electrons. Now, like peeling away the layers   
of an onion, they had discovered something more   
elusive--quarks.  
  
The problem with quarks was that though it was theorized   
that absolutely everything was made of them, they   
couldn't be seen. Studying them was a bit like looking   
at a murder scene and theorizing who the killer had   
been. You couldn't see him, only the evidence he left   
behind.   
  
They stepped into the elevator and Scully imagined the   
discussion she would have had if Mulder had been there.   
  
"So these scientists, these men of logic, believe in   
something they can't prove exists." Mulder would have   
been gleeful at the contradiction.  
  
"Don't equate quantum physics with Mexican goat   
suckers."  
  
His hazel eyes would have filled with a teasing light.   
"I wouldn't dare. They've been 'theorizing' goat   
suckers long before anyone thought up a quark."  
  
"It's not the same thing."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because goat suckers don't exist."   
  
"But these little whatchamacalits that no one can see   
do? Why is that, Dr. Scully?"  
  
"Because their existence can be predicted by   
mathematical equations--"   
  
Mulder would interrupt, "Math? You mean a system   
created by man to explain to themselves observable   
and non-observable phenomena? Sounds a lot like the   
reason ancient Egyptians invented Isis, Osiris, and   
Horus. That was their way to find order in the   
universe just as modern scientists point to   
invisible strings--"   
  
"Mathematics is not the same thing as a dog headed   
pseudo-god."  
  
"You didn't meet my ninth grade geometry teacher."   
  
Scully heard the dinging sound signaling the elevator's  
arrival at the first floor, and she became aware of the  
physics student watching her with a little too much   
interest. Was her distraction obvious? Something   
about his expression made her think so, and Scully   
worried that her inner turmoil was so close to the   
surface that even a stranger could see it. She   
schooled her features into an impassive mask. Her   
sadness and her memories were her own. They   
were private.  
  
As they exited Clark Hall Stilgoe explained that the   
CESR/CLEO was located fifteen meters below the alumni   
field. It was a rather unglamorous concrete tunnel   
filled with magnets. Billions of electrons and their   
exact opposite--positrons--were circulated in the tunnel   
at something close to the speed of light in the hopes   
that a few of them would collide and annihilate each   
other. If they were lucky, they would catch evidence   
that a b quark existed. Of course usually nothing much   
happened, and even when it did, you couldn't see the b   
quark you produced. In the end the best you could do was   
study the aftermath of their decay in CLEO.  
  
They entered the control booth. "Dr. Blackwood,"   
Stilgoe said grabbing the older man's attention. "This   
is Agent Scully with the FBI. She's here to investigate   
Doerstling's disappearance."   
  
Dr. Arnold Blackwood was in his late fifties with   
grayish blonde hair in a surprisingly long, bowl-like   
cut. He was rather beige in appearance. Not just   
because of the hair, but the skin, and the sort of   
colorless off-white shirt he wore with wrinkled khaki   
trousers.   
  
"Have you found anything?" he asked in a somewhat   
impatient tone.   
  
"Not yet. I was hoping I could see Dr. Doerstling's   
office," Scully answered. "I understand that was the   
last place he was seen."   
  
Blackwood took off his glasses and cleaned them on his   
shirt. "It was?"   
  
Scully frowned. "According to the police report, Dr.   
Doerstling's assistant Lauren Rice left him in his   
office when she left for dinner. When she returned,   
he was gone."   
  
"Saw Lauren this morning," Stilgoe added. "She's really   
blown away by this. Blames herself."  
  
Blackwood shook his head, and Scully detected a note of   
aggravation in his voice. "If Doerstling disappeared   
it's because he wanted to."   
  
"I would think his physical limitations would make that   
difficult," Scully pointed out.  
  
The professor sniffed. "Don't bet on it. In someone   
else--hell, in anyone else--what happened to Doerstling   
as a kid would have been a tragedy."   
  
"But not in his case?"  
  
Somewhat defiantly Blackwood said, "It was a gift."  
  
Scully eyes widened then narrowed as a frown creased  
her forehead.  
  
He began shuffling through papers as he explained,   
"I've known Steven since we were both freshmen in   
college. He was only fifteen years old. He was an  
intellectual prodigy but in every other way he was  
just a reckless kid." Blackwood pushed the papers   
aside and looked up at Scully. "Before the accident   
I don't think Steven ever sat still for five minutes   
straight, but paralysis didn't give him a choice. He   
couldn't use his body so he had to use his mind." The   
professor removed his glasses and cleaned them on his   
shirt. "Steven had an extraordinary mind."   
  
She caught the fact that he referred to Doerstling in   
the past tense but didn't press the issue as yet. "So   
you think whatever happened to the doctor was by his own   
design?"  
  
Blackwood laughed but it was a hollow, tinny sound. "For   
Doerstling everything was by design. The whole fucking   
universe was built to exact proportions."  
  
"I've read a little of his work," Scully told him.   
  
Blackwood looked surprised and perhaps even a little   
displeased. "Hardly normal reading material for an FBI   
agent. I'd think you'd stick to Clancy novels."  
  
"What was the doctor working on before he disappeared?"  
  
"You really want to know?"   
  
Scully took a deep breath and reminded herself that  
saying what was on the tip of her tongue wasn't an   
option. Being cranky with someone other than Mulder   
usually didn't take her far. Come to think of it, it   
didn't accomplish much with Mulder so she resorted to   
simply looking at the man with silent expectation. That   
usually met with some results.  
  
Blackwood crossed his arms. "How much do you know about   
M theory? Kaluza-Klein theory? Calabi-Yau space?"  
  
"Very little, I'm afraid."   
  
"That's what I thought. Agent Scully, I'm a busy man.   
I don't have time to teach remedial physics." He tossed   
Stilgoe a set of keys. "Explain to her what she wants to   
know and let her into Doerstling's office. I've got   
work to do."  
  
As Blackwood walked away, Scully followed Stilgoe up the   
stairs into blinding white sunlight. Shading her eyes   
with one hand she asked, "What was Dr. Doerstling's   
current project?"   
  
Stilgoe glanced away quickly. "He was sort of 'out   
there' if you know what I mean."  
  
She arched a brow, "'Out there?' Could you be more   
specific?"   
  
After all 'out there' could mean anything from seeing   
shadow conspiracies to anticipating an alien invasion,   
finding a five hundred year old genie with a sick sense   
of humor, or chasing a Mexican goat sucker across   
southern California. Scully needed specifics.  
  
"Ever heard of the anthropic principle?"   
  
She cocked her head to one side. "Isn't it the   
cosmological equivalent of 'if a tree falls in the   
forest...?'"   
  
Stilgoe laughed. "Yeah. Sort of. Basically it says the   
universe looks the way that it does, because if it   
didn't we wouldn't be here to see it."   
  
"I suppose that makes sense. We evolved under a   
specific set of conditions so we're intrinsically   
linked to those conditions."  
  
"But you see Doerstling isn't interested in our   
evolution. He's interested in the evolution of the   
universe. Think about it. If the big bang was an   
accident, then any set of parameters could happen--most   
of which wouldn't produce life. Hell, they couldn't   
produce anything, not stars, planets, or even atoms.   
So why did this particular bang produce all those   
things in abundance?"   
  
Scully frowned and thought about that. Her first   
thought was to remember Colleen Azar saying, "There   
is a greater intelligence in all things." But what   
Scully said aloud was, "So Doerstling postulated that   
the universe we know is the result of an unimaginable   
game of trial and error?"  
  
"The exact opposite, actually. Maybe what we think of   
as 'the' universe is just one of many. A string of them   
all tied together. Each almost, but not exactly,   
identical to the ones tied to it."  
  
Lines creased her brow, "Given the sheer number of   
possible results from a big bang, how could different   
universes be nearly identical?"  
  
"Here we are," Stilgoe announced as he unlocked the door   
to Doerstling's office. She looked back at the grad   
student, wanting to pursue the line of their   
conversation, but that could wait.   
  
The office wasn't all that different from any number of   
faculty offices she had seen before. It was small, had   
only one window and was cluttered with papers and books.   
The police had already dusted the room for prints and   
had found few matches. The only two matches they did   
find were physics students who had been arrested for   
drunk and disorderly conduct during their freshman year.   
Hardly a surprising event on a college campus.   
  
Scully walked into the room and wished she had some of   
Mulder's eerie intuition, some way to look at her   
surroundings and formulate answers out of thin air. She   
wasn't that lucky. Instead she plodded along looking   
for evidence and clues that could lead her to a rational   
answer.  
  
She paused and looked at a pair of greenish tinted   
etchings hung over the desk. Scully vaguely recognized   
the prints as being by Escher. Both were plays on   
perspective and dimension showing stairs that ascended   
and descended at the same improbable time. One print   
showed stairs and arches turning back on themselves.   
Not one world, but many intersecting and interacting.   
Each had a different orientation. They were disparate   
realms existing in the same plane. After her discussion   
with Stilgoe, Scully could see why Doerstling had chosen   
these prints. And suddenly she was assailed by the   
memory of Albert Hosteen standing in her apartment   
saying, "There are more worlds than the one you can   
hold in your hand."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
***************************************************  
Is everything determined? The answer is yes, it is.  
But it might as well not be, because we can never   
know what is determined.  
Stephen Hawking  
"Black Holes and Baby Universes"  
***************************************************  
  
  
CHAPTER TWO  
  
Georgetown Memorial Hospital  
Washington, D.C.  
10:12 am  
  
Dr. Dana Waterston stared at the C.T. scan on her  
computer in a state of shock. What was in front of   
her was impossible. It made no sense. It was beyond   
belief. It had been beyond belief from the moment the   
paramedics had rolled a stranger into the E.R., and   
he had known her.   
  
Normally, Dana didn't work in the E.R. She had been a  
last minute fill-in. It had been pure chance that she   
was on-call last night. So how had he known her?   
  
Dana couldn't ask. The man had lapsed into a catatonic   
state, his single moment of lucidity spent gazing at   
her. As a doctor Dana had looked into the eyes of a   
thousand patients and seen pain or need or gratitude,   
but when this man looked at her it was different. He   
saw her. He saw into her. It was as if he had reached   
through all of her defenses and touched something   
inside of her that she had forgotten existed.  
  
"Dana?"  
  
She turned and saw her husband Daniel at her office   
door.   
  
"You haven't slept," Daniel observed. "You haven't   
left the hospital in days. People are talking."  
  
"I don't care what people say."  
  
He clenched his jaw. "You should care."   
  
"Appearances don't matter, Daniel."  
  
He gently touched her cheek. "No, SHE doesn't matter."  
  
Dana stepped back and massaged her neck with her left   
hand. "Is that what you said to Barbara about me?"   
  
"No. Never. I left her for you. You know that."  
  
Yes, Dana did know that, and looking back perhaps that   
was why she had stayed with Daniel for as long as she   
had. Dana wasn't particularly good at facing up to   
mistakes, and Daniel had been a mistake.   
  
As a third year med student Dana had been fascinated   
as she watched Daniel save a patient. He had held   
the power of life and death in his hands and hadn't   
appeared overwhelmed by the consequences of his every   
word or action. He had acted coolly and with great   
precision. Daniel was in control, and Dana had envied   
him.  
  
When she had met him again as an intern, Dana had been   
surprised by his interest in her. She had also been   
reluctant to become involved. It wasn't professional   
to have a personal relationship with the chief resident,   
and yet on some level the forbidden nature of the   
relationship had been its most potent lure. The night   
her first patient had died, Daniel had been there to   
pick up the pieces and offer temptation, and Dana had   
surrendered and crossed the line. When Daniel had   
announced that he was leaving his wife, Dana had been   
stunned. And when that abandoned wife had committed   
suicide, mixed in with Dana's darkly confused emotions   
had been the single selfish thought, "Now I'm stuck."   
  
A woman's despair and death could not be over nothing,   
certainly not anything as petty as a man's ego or a   
younger woman's confusion. It had to be love or fate.   
Something--anything--of real importance. Surely for   
Dana to make this kind of mistake, to have caused this   
much havoc in this many people's lives Daniel had to   
be more than forbidden fruit. She had to love   
him . . . didn't she?   
  
Looking back Dana could see that when she had decided   
on a course of action, or the penance or duty or   
whatever she had believed her choice to be, she had   
locked away some part of herself. Her idealism and   
faith had been casualties of an indiscretion that   
had not only altered her life but her self perception.   
  
She became Mrs. Daniel Waterston wearing a beige linen   
suit in a courthouse wedding performed by a bored   
bureaucrat anxious to beat Friday afternoon traffic.   
That summer Daniel had accepted a position in the   
cardiology department of Georgetown Memorial Hospital   
where ultimately he was appointed chief. They had left   
behind the city of his first wife's death and the laser   
like glares of his bitterly resentful college age   
daughter.   
  
"She doesn't need me," Daniel had once told Dana.   
"She doesn't want me."  
  
Dana didn't believe it, but she didn't say that out   
loud, just as she didn't explain the way she resented   
having to pick up her own career and move simply   
because Daniel had accepted a position in Virginia.   
The move hadn't damaged her career as much as Dana   
had feared or as much as she secretly believed she   
deserved. Her path had simply changed, and she had   
earned a residency in the neurology department then   
specialized in neurobiology.  
  
Earlier this week Dana had discovered Daniel having an   
affair with a young, rather brilliant intern. What had   
shocked Dana wasn't that Daniel was having an affair.   
Somewhere inside she admitted to herself that she had   
always expected that. What had shocked her to the   
core--had horrified her in fact--was that she didn't   
care. It didn't touch her. She wasn't in denial. It   
simply didn't matter. If Dana was brutally honest she   
had to admit that when she discovered the truth her   
primary emotion had been relief.   
  
A nurse knocked politely on the door. "Doctor,   
someone is here about the John Doe."  
  
Dana nodded. Daniel caught her arm. "We need to   
talk."  
  
"Not now. I have to see to a patient." Leaving   
her office Dana walked down the hall to the   
waiting room of the M.I.C.U.   
  
The nurse handed her the patient's chart. "They've   
identified him as Fox Mulder. He's an agent with   
the FBI."   
  
Dana arched a surprised brow then thanked the nurse.   
She turned and entered the waiting room. Two men   
faced her. The younger man was bald with glasses   
and dressed as a bureaucrat but there was something   
about the set of his jaw and his muscular build that   
defied that simple description. The other man was   
older with a lined, weathered face. He didn't   
acknowledge her but stared out the window.   
  
She introduced herself to the younger man, "I'm Dr.   
Waterston."  
  
He shook her hand. "Skinner." He didn't introduce   
the man who stood in the shadows. "How is Agent   
Mulder?"   
  
She answered directly, "I'm afraid Mr. Mulder is   
gravely ill."   
  
"What's wrong with him? I asked the nurse but she   
didn't seem to know."   
  
Dana grimaced. "It's difficult to say exactly what   
is wrong with Mr. Mulder. I know of no precedent   
for this case."   
  
The older man glanced at her as if she had suddenly   
caught his interest. Her gaze met his levelly and   
didn't waver. It felt like a contest of wills and   
Dana wasn't sure why she felt so determined not lose.   
Finally, the older man walked toward her.   
  
"What exactly is the nature of the problem that you   
have no precedent for?" he asked.  
  
"I've run C.T. scans and high resolution EEGs to map   
the neuroelectrical outputs of his brain," Dana   
explained. "There is extreme hyperactivity localized   
in a specific area of his temporal lobe. It's a   
peculiar area of the brain that we are just now   
beginning to map and understand. Neurophysicists   
have begun calling it the 'god module.'"   
  
Something flickered in the older man's eyes and for   
a moment Dana thought she saw a look of satisfaction   
cross his face.   
  
She frowned. "This hyperactivity won't allow his   
brain to rest. It disrupts R.E.M. sleep. If he   
weren't catatonic he would be on the verge of a   
psychotic break."  
  
"Mulder has gone insane?" Skinner looked aghast.  
  
"No. But his brain can't sustain this level of   
activity. The more active this area becomes, the   
more the other functions of the brain are shutting   
down. To put it bluntly, Mr. Mulder is so alive that   
it's killing him."  
  
Skinner grimaced. "Can we see him?"   
  
"Visitation is limited to immediate family only."  
  
"Mulder has no family."  
  
Sadness pierced her. "I suppose there's no reason   
you can't see him. However, he may not know you're   
there."  
  
The older man's eyes never left her face, "Just show   
us the way, doctor."   
  
When they entered the room, Skinner looked surprised.   
"His eyes are open."   
  
"That's not unusual in some catatonic states," Dana  
explained as she crossed the room.  
  
X X X  
  
The world was dark but he was filled with blinding   
white pain. A deafening, roaring wave of sound   
enveloped him, drowning him. He couldn't even hear   
himself scream. . . and he was screaming. He was   
calling for help that never came. His only response   
was the shouts and whispers of a thousand indistinct,   
indistinguishable, and irrelevant voices.  
  
However, beneath the uniform roar and separate from   
the melded screams were two distinct voices. They   
filtered into his mind and into his consciousness.   
In some ways they were a comfort. He was not alone   
in this hell, this world of sound and despair. He   
was adrift but not completely lost, because there   
were still those who could reach him. Even here.   
Even now.  
  
The first voice separated from the crowd hissed like   
a snake--low, dark, malevolent and in some horrifying   
way, omnipresent. The second was softer. Clear and   
calm. The eye of the hurricane. He clung to her as   
the single safe harbor in a mental storm. Within her   
he felt uncertainty but strength. Confusion but clear   
direction. And overriding everything was compassion   
and concern.  
  
Mulder fell into her like immersing himself in warm   
water, letting her wash away the dark night terrors   
and hold him in an unending embrace. Here was   
sanctuary. Peace.  
  
Somewhere in the distance Mulder thought he heard  
Skinner ask, "What can you do for Mulder?"  
  
The other voice--the softer voice--answered,  
"I've arranged for a PET scan."  
  
"PET?"  
  
"Positron Emission Tomography. It maps brain cell   
function."  
  
"And this will help him?"  
  
"No, but it may help us understand what's happening  
to him." Her voice receded as Mulder became aware of   
the Smoking Man now standing at his bedside.   
  
"I know you can hear me." The Smoking Man's   
thoughts echoed in Mulder's head.   
  
Mulder wanted to turn away from the old man's dark   
thoughts. He wanted to lose himself in the gentle   
female presence that whispered to him softly. But   
there was no way to turn off the voices, and there   
was no way to turn away from the malevolence of this   
one.   
  
"We are reaching the crucial moment," CSM silently   
told him. "We are close to the ultimate destination.   
Are you curious to know what it is? Ah, you moved.   
You are not as lost to us as the doctor believes."  
  
Doctor? What doctor? Mulder wondered.   
  
CSM came closer. "Should I take this moment to   
explain all? Like some villain in a 'B' movie,   
should I explain why you are doomed to this fate and   
what the ultimate goal truly is? That would be a kind   
thing to do would it not? That would be compassion.   
If you are to be a martyr to a cause, you should at   
least know why."   
  
Mulder was cold now. He had been pulled from his   
sanctuary into brutal, frigid isolation. He was   
alone. Bereft.   
  
"I am not kind," the voice hissed then went away.  
  
Mercifully the softer presence returned. She was  
bothered by the Smoking Man's silence, because   
although Mulder had heard the bastard's every word,   
not one of them had been said aloud. Now frustration  
bubbled inside her because she thought something was   
happening that she didn't understand. She hated that.   
Intellectual curiosity was a passion for her. Mulder   
could feel it push her, prod her, urging her into   
action even as another part of herself fought to   
keep it within acceptable boundaries.  
  
Mulder didn't know why this woman's thoughts and   
feelings were so clear to him. He couldn't explain the   
link they shared that made her stand in stark relief  
to chaos inside him. But now he knew that he was   
wrong to consider her a peaceful sanctuary. As Mulder  
touched her mind he saw that beneath her calm façade   
was a raging sea of emotion. She simply kept it under   
control by sheer force of will.  
  
She started to move. In a few moments she would leave,   
and he would alone in the abyss of his own private  
hell. "Don't go," Mulder thought with such intensity that   
he almost believed he had said it out loud. He saw her  
eyes widen and her lips part with a surprised gasp.   
  
"Stay," he silently called through the cacophony of   
voices echoing in his head.  
  
She gripped his hand with surprising strength and gave   
a small, almost embarrassed laugh. "I can't leave this   
room," she murmured to herself. "I've left my husband   
of nearly ten years without a backward glance, but I   
can't leave this room. Why is that?"  
  
Mulder was shocked. Had she heard him? Could he reach  
her the same way that she reached him?  
  
"Rest," she said softly. "I'll stay. For some reason I   
need to."   
  
And surrounded by her warmth and compassion he could   
rest. His demons withdrew to a bearable distance, and   
in that moment he loved her. More than life, more than   
breath, more than sanity--he loved her.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**************************************************  
"The universe seems. . .to have been determined  
and ordered in accordance with number, by the  
forethought and the mind of the creator of all  
things; for the pattern was fixed, like a   
preliminary sketch, by the domination of number   
preexistent in the mind of the world-creating God.  
Nicomachus of Gerasa  
Arithmetic 1, 6 (ca A.D. 100)  
***************************************************  
  
CHAPTER THREE  
  
Ithaca, New York  
8:13pm  
  
Scully pushed open the door to the pub. The hardwood   
floors shook with the low thrum of the music playing   
beneath the happy chatter of students. A male student   
signaled the bartender for another beer, and a young   
woman approached the stage to flirt with the band's   
lead guitarist.  
  
Scully frowned and became acutely aware of her isolation.   
She was an island of stillness in the midst of motion.  
She didn't belong here. This wasn't her world, and   
no one here shared hers.   
  
She rubbed her neck and wished she could return to her   
motel room. She felt exhausted after spending the day   
with the local police searching Cascadilla Gorge. Despite  
the fact that she had never had much hope of finding   
Doerstling's remains, Scully had agreed to the search  
because it was logical to investigate areas where a body   
might be dumped. Scully sighed and reminded herself to  
be grateful she had spent the day hiking instead of   
plumbing the frigid depths of Cayuga Lake.   
  
At sunset she had returned to her car to find a message   
blinking on her cell phone. After reviewing it Scully   
dumped her blue FBI windbreaker in the back seat and   
walked to the pub.  
  
"Hey, Agent Scully!" Mike Stilgoe called from across the   
room. "Out here!"   
  
She made her way through the crowd and out to a patio   
that overlooked the waterfall cascades of Beebe Lake. It   
was an attractive view at twilight.   
  
"I said I'd track Lauren down," he told her as he led   
Scully to a table at the far corner of the patio where a   
young, thin blonde sat. "Lauren," he introduced, "this   
is Agent Scully."  
  
Strands escaped the clip Lauren Rice used to pull her   
hair away from her narrow face. There was an unhappy   
cast to her features as she stared into a glass of white   
wine.  
  
"Ms. Rice," Scully began as she took a seat opposite the   
younger woman. "I'm glad you agreed to speak with me."   
  
Lauren shrugged. "No reason not to, but I have to tell   
you I don't think I'll be much help."  
  
"Agent Scully," Mike interrupted. "Would you like a   
drink? I'm heading to the bar."  
  
"Water would be nice."  
  
"That's all?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
He arched a brow but said good naturedly, "Okay. I'll   
be back in a minute."  
  
Scully watched Lauren nervously tug her hair behind   
her ear, then fidget silently. Scully asked, "Ms. Rice,   
can you give me any idea of Dr. Doerstling's state of   
mind before he disappeared? I understand from Mr.   
Stilgoe that some promising data had been collected that   
day."  
  
Lauren rubbed her finger around the rim of her glass.   
"He usually didn't pay attention to test data. He was   
more interested in theory than research."  
  
"He didn't care if his work was proven?"  
  
"Most of his stuff can't be proven," Lauren explained.   
"There can be circumstantial evidence, but there's no   
way to see or test most of his theories. It's beyond   
our technology."  
  
"That must be frustrating." Scully knew it was   
maddening to be a scientist and have the answers you   
sought always beyond your reach. "You said that Dr.   
Doerstling usually didn't pay attention to test data,   
was that day different?"  
  
Lauren lifted troubled gray eyes. "I think he's dead."   
  
"Why?"   
  
Lauren shrugged. "He was an unhappy man. In the   
department you run across people who can't imagine   
life outside of physics. That wasn't Doerstling.   
The first time I met him, he showed me clippings   
about the people who tried to climb Everest. You   
know, the ones who got trapped in the blizzard. He   
wanted to do that sort of thing. Push the limits.   
Live on the edge. He didn't want to be trapped   
in a chair."  
  
Scully nodded thoughtfully. "Was he depressed?"   
  
"I'm not a doctor or anything," Lauren told her.   
"But I kind of think he was bi-polar. He could be   
really up sometimes. He would go for days working   
on some equation that no one else could possibly   
understand, and he would be so wrapped up in it   
that it was like the rest of the world didn't   
matter. Then there were the down times. Those   
could get bad. Really bad."  
  
"Was he suicidal?"  
  
Lauren bit her lip then nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes   
he was suicidal."  
  
"Is there a way that Dr. Doerstling could have   
left his office without your knowing?"  
  
"I've thought about that," she answered. "Truth   
is, I'm not sure. I guess so. I mean, his chair   
was electric and he had ways of controlling it.   
There were these sensor things--" She stopped and   
waved her hand in the air as if saying that there   
was no point in going into detail. "He couldn't   
go far though. Not without help."  
  
"Do you think he had help?"  
  
"I can't imagine who."  
  
Scully leaned forward. "Is there anyone who would   
want to hurt the doctor?"  
  
Lauren looked shocked. "No!"  
  
"Okay," Scully said softly, then more deliberately,   
"Is there anyone who might have helped him--"  
  
Lauren stopped her. "If you're thinking some Kavorkian   
euthanasia thing, no way. I mean the doctor might be   
depressed from time to time, but he was amazing. He   
wasn't just brilliant. He was a genius--a bona fide,   
make your head spin genius. No way would anyone help   
him cut his career short. He can't be replaced."  
  
Lauren climbed to her feet. "Look, like I said, I   
don't think I can help you. I don't know anything.   
One minute he was there and the next he was gone. I   
can't...I don't...I...I'm sorry." She left Scully   
sitting alone at the table.  
  
Scully turned and looked at the water rushing down the   
cascades. One minute he was there, and the next he was   
gone. It was that simple and that devastating. She   
shivered and suddenly felt cold.  
  
"Lauren take off?" Stilgoe asked as he handed Scully   
her water.  
  
"She told me what she could."  
  
Stilgoe turned in the direction of the door as if it  
was still possible to watch Lauren Rice's exit. "She's   
taking this hard. She puts on this act like she's   
okay--like she's got everything under control--but   
it's just an act."  
  
Scully's gaze fell to the floor away. He could just   
as easily be describing her. Then again, she and   
Lauren Rice lived in a similar limbo. They weren't   
allowed the luxury of grief.  
  
Scully flinched. It felt alien to think of grief as a   
luxury, especially when she remembered the pain of   
losing her father and her sister. Grief was a soul deep  
ache, but in some ways it was easier than unexplained  
loss.  
  
Death had finality. Scully didn't wonder if her  
father or Melissa was in pain. She didn't wake up  
in the dead of night afraid that they needed her. They  
were gone, and she could grieve. She could allow   
memories to comfort her. But memories were things of   
the past. Uncertainty was always in the present, and   
Scully didn't know what had happened to Mulder. She   
didn't know what might be happening to him now.   
  
Melissa and her father didn't need her, but what if   
Mulder did? What if every moment she wasn't searching   
for him, she was failing him? It was that thought that   
drove Scully through sleepless nights. It wouldn't   
allow her rest. Every tick of the clock might be   
the moment that changed the course of her life   
because it might decide whether Mulder lived at all.  
  
Scully rested her hand on the patio's handrail and   
watched water crash against the rocks below. Inside  
the bar the band sang, "Out of sorrow entire worlds   
have been built. Out of longing great wonders have   
been willed."   
  
If only longing could produce miracles. If it could,   
she wouldn't be sitting here alone.   
  
Vaguely, Scully noticed Mike Stilgoe watching her and   
had to admit to herself that technically she wasn't   
alone. It only felt that way.  
  
Aware that the silence had grown awkward, Scully said   
briskly, "Yesterday you mentioned Doerstling's research.   
I did a little reading on his theory of multiple   
universes."  
  
"Oh yeah." Stilgoe nodded. "Doerstling may not have   
been the first to come up with the idea, but his take on   
it was certainly unique."  
  
"You mean his theory that if the circumstances for one   
'big bang' occurred then it's likely to have happened   
more than once?"  
  
"Yeah. Really, why couldn't it? Why couldn't it happen   
a lot?"  
  
Scully mused, "Didn't Andre Linde write a paper on   
multiple inflationary expansions?"  
  
"That was sort of Doerstling's jumping off point,"   
Stilgoe explained. "If Linde was right, there could   
be a whole maze of universes tied together."  
  
"That still doesn't explain why Doerstling would   
believe those universes would be nearly identical."  
  
"I can't explain it very well. I don't know that anyone   
but Doerstling really could, but it has something to do   
with the fact that universes may be tied together...   
related. The 'big bang' came from the inflationary   
expansion of a singularity. That singularity could be   
anything from a black hole to a quark. What if the quark   
that sparked a bang came from our universe? The next   
universe would share the properties of this one. Or to   
be even weirder, what if we're the second universe?   
What if we're the millionth universe? What if there are   
billions of them linked together like chain mail?"   
  
Stilgoe crossed his arms and leaned forward against the   
table. "He had this theory that if one universe sprang   
from another for generation after generation, then maybe   
it's not just humans who evolve but the entire cosmos.   
That would mean that somewhere out there could be a   
universe or even many universes so tied to ours that   
they're almost identical."  
  
X X X  
  
Georgetown Memorial Hospital  
Washington, D.C.  
10:18 pm  
  
Dr. Dana Waterston stood at the nurses' station of the   
M.I.C.U. looking at a stack of phone messages left by   
her husband. She really had no desire to answer them.   
Then out of the corner of her eye she saw movement.   
"Hey," she called. "What are you doing?"  
  
The man hit the pad on the wall that opened the   
automated egress doors.  
  
"Stop," Dana ordered as she hurried down the hall. "Who   
are you? What were you doing in that room?"  
  
The man never looked back but walked steadily away from   
her. She had the urge to run after him but he had   
already reached the emergency stair. Dana glanced toward   
the nurses' station. "Call security," she demanded. But   
when she reached the stairwell, Dana knew that it was   
too late. The man had disappeared. "Damn," she muttered   
under her breath.  
  
She asked the nurse, "Who let that man in here? The   
I.C.U. has restricted access."  
  
"No one," the nurse answered. "Honest."  
  
Dana frowned. It was entirely likely the nurse was   
belatedly covering up a mistake, but it was also   
possible the mystery man had entered the I.C.U.   
through the back emergency stair. The stair was a   
security nightmare, but it couldn't be removed. Dana   
knew that because the facility's administrator had   
once introduced her to the hospital's architect. The  
architect had explained that several years ago a hospital   
expansion had taken out a stairwell at the other end of   
the corridor. Because that stairwell had been removed,   
fire codes demanded that this one stay even though it  
violated the spirit of the I.C.U.'s restricted access  
policy.  
  
When Dana entered Fox Mulder's room, she glanced at the   
EEG monitor and gasped. She reached for Mulder's   
hand and took his pulse as she studied the EEG. It   
had changed. The hyperactivity remained, but somehow   
he had entered R.E.M. sleep. He dreamed.  
  
X X X  
  
Mulder had seen the boy before. He had dreamed   
this dream before. . .at least Mulder thought it   
was a dream. It had to be a dream. This couldn't be   
real. . .could it?  
  
The boy played in the sand on the beach. Once the   
child had approached Mulder and said, "The child is   
the father of the man." Mulder had thought the   
statement to be about as profound as your average   
fortune cookie, but if that was true, why did it   
continue to haunt him? He kept thinking that if   
he understood it, he would understand all things.  
  
Of course it wasn't that easy. Nothing was ever   
that easy. How could he discover some deeply   
hidden message in a child's words when he couldn't   
discover whether this place, this beach, was even   
real? This was probably nothing more than a drug   
induced dream.  
  
The child was angry with him. The boy looked at   
Mulder with an expression of disappointment and   
disgust. "You were supposed to help me," he said   
petulantly, then threw a handful of sand at Mulder   
and ran away.  
  
That was when Mulder sensed her. She wasn't far   
away--ten maybe twenty yards down the beach--and yet   
she felt impossibly distant. She felt beyond his   
reach. But she was there, and he knew her. He   
could almost call her by name. . .except he couldn't.   
It was the sensation of knowing something, but feeling   
it slip beyond your grasp. Her name was on the tip of   
his tongue and yet for the life of him, he could not   
produce it.  
  
She didn't look at him. She simply stared at the   
out at the horizon. She was searching. He knew it.   
He could sense it. She was searching for something or   
someone out there. He called to her but somehow his   
words were drowned by the sound of the surf. He started   
forward. He had to reach her. He had to go to her side.   
He had to take her hand so that they could turn to   
search the horizon together. He had to.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
****************************************************  
"We shall not all sleep,   
but we shall all be changed."  
I Corinthians 15:51  
****************************************************  
  
CHAPTER FOUR  
  
Grayhaven Inn  
Ithaca, New York  
11:15pm  
  
Scully was exhausted when she entered her motel room.   
Her back hurt. Her feet hurt. And, if asked to state  
her general condition, Scully would have to say   
miserable. To top everything off, she didn't have a   
clue how Doerstling had disappeared.   
  
Scully thought about simply collapsing in bed and going   
to sleep but, as tired as she was, she couldn't   
contemplate sleep without first finding her toothbrush.  
  
The phone rang.   
  
"Scully," she answered out of habit.  
  
"Agent Scully, this is Mike Stilgoe. I...uh...I'm   
sorry to be calling you this late, but after you left   
the pub I came back to Clark Hall."  
  
"Has something happened?"  
  
"No. Nothing's happened. Actually, this place is   
pretty dead, but I was reviewing last Tuesday's CLEO   
data and ran across something I thought you might like   
to know." She could hear him shuffling papers in the   
background. "There was an unscheduled test the night   
of Doerstling's disappearance."  
  
"What time?"  
  
"Oh, um..." Again Scully heard him shuffling papers.   
"Looks like sometime just before nine."  
  
"Do you know who ran the test?"  
  
"No. There's no official record. I only noticed that   
there were results that didn't fit with the rest of   
the data. It wasn't on my earlier readout so I did   
some cross checking. This was something different."  
  
"Any idea what?"  
  
"No. But I can check first thing in the morning if you   
want."  
  
She glanced at the red digital readout on the clock.   
"Would eight be too early?"  
  
"Usually," he admitted. "But with Blackwood scheduling a   
test first thing tomorrow that shouldn't be a problem."  
  
Scully thanked him for calling then reached for the   
remote control to turn on the TV. As she stood Scully   
noticed the flickering images on screen. Some cable   
channel was replaying the movie "Gattaca." Not a bad   
movie, she thought as she fished her toothbrush out of   
her suitcase. Glancing up Scully saw Ethan Hawke   
challenge his on-screen brother to a swimming   
endurance contest. Men, she thought as she rolled   
her eyes. How did a suicidal race prove manhood?  
  
In the bathroom Scully washed away any traces of   
make-up left after a day of trampling through the   
woods. When she entered the bedroom patting her   
face dry, she noticed that the movie had reached   
its climax. Ethan Hawke's character had finally   
achieved his life's ambition of boarding a rocket   
bound for the moon Titan.   
  
Scully's brow creased as she considered the story.   
She remembered once telling Mulder that she believed   
in fate. Actually what she had said was that a   
person's character determined their fate. However,   
in Gattaca a person was not judged by their character   
but by their genetic potential.   
  
Hawke played the hero, a man who exceeded expectations   
and proved that a man's soul was more than the sum of   
his parts. On the other hand Jude Law played a man of   
unlimited potential. Nothing was deemed beyond his   
grasp. Law could do or become anything. However, without   
boundaries he was doomed to failure. No one could be   
everything, and faced with that knowledge, Law's   
character had self-destructed. When an accident   
robbed him of the use of his legs he saw no purpose   
in living, and as Hawke triumphantly blasted into   
space, Law climbed into an incinerator and committed   
suicide.  
  
Scully gasped.   
  
She dropped her towel and blinked. She thought about   
her line of reasoning, about the parallels between Law's   
character and Dr. Doerstling. It seemed like such a   
Mulder-like quantum leap of logic, but somehow the  
theory forming in her head just felt. . .right.  
  
Grabbing her wind breaker, Scully headed to the door   
then down the steps to her rental car. She had to   
look at CLEO. Stilgoe had said there was a test   
scheduled for first thing in the morning, and another  
test could destroy any evidence that might be inside  
the CESR. She had to look at it tonight.   
  
Traffic was light as Scully drove to the Alumni Field   
which was now deserted and pitch dark. There were   
lights in the distance but not enough to penetrate   
the inky blackness here. After finding her flashlight,   
Scully stepped out of the car then flipped the switch   
so that a single beam of white light cut the darkness.   
  
The flashlight showed her the path to the door of the   
Electron Storage Ring. Too late Scully realized that   
she should have called Stilgoe so that he could let   
her into the facility. It was probably locked. But   
when she tried the door Scully was surprised to find   
that it was open.   
  
Feeling clumsily along the wall she searched for the   
light switch but one wasn't there. Finally pointing  
her flashlight's narrow beam into the darkness, Scully  
cautiously made her way down the stairs. When she   
reached the bottom Scully thought about going to the   
control room, but having seen it the other day she   
decided there was little evidence to be found there.   
Instead she turned to enter the curving, bunkerlike   
corridor of the CESR itself.   
  
The ceiling was low and curved like the walls of a   
tunnel. There were surface mounted lights running   
along a track overhead but she had no idea where the   
switch for those lights might be. Next to the lights   
ran a bundled black cable, and along the wall was a   
bulky contraption made of metal. This structure didn't   
reflect the elegant aesthetics of sci-fi movies but the   
clumsy, inexact mechanics of experimental research.   
  
As her flashlight moved along the wall highlighting   
a red painted horizontal track with heavy blue supports,   
Scully noticed that fire extinguishers were located   
every few yards. To her right stood another awkward   
structure, but she couldn't make out what it was and   
had no idea what it did.  
  
Then she heard something.  
  
Scully stopped and strained to listen for any movement   
or sound, but the silence was oppressive. Flashing a   
beam of light behind her she searched the darkness, but   
the curvature of the tunnel made it impossible to see   
more than a few yards. Scully switched off her   
flashlight and waited...but no sound. Nothing. Seconds   
ticked by before Scully decided she must have imagined   
it and turned on her flashlight.  
  
She walked down the hallway. The sound of her   
footsteps echoed around her. To her right Scully   
noticed a stencil on the wall announcing,   
"Synchronotron" then further down the line she found   
the words, "West Transfer." Apart from the stencils,   
her surroundings remained unchanged. The red painted   
structure still stood to her left as a bulky mechanical   
device ran down the wall on her right. She stopped   
when she found a large, stainless steel structure   
labeled "CHESS West."   
  
Again Scully heard something. Movement. Her light   
arced in the darkness as she turned only to find   
nothing changed. She heard it again. Her wobbly   
light darted from side to side. Now the sound was   
constant . . . and it was close. It was a small,   
desperate, scratching sound.  
  
Without warning the overhead lights blinded Scully   
as they flooded the tunnel. She squinted against   
the glare but just as suddenly as they had come on,   
they were gone. Then a strobe light flashed causing   
an eerie, disconnected effect that made her flashlight   
useless. A deafening horn blasted and echoed down the   
concrete tunnel. Scully could no longer hear the   
scratching, but she didn't think it had stopped.  
  
She pushed beyond the CHESS West and came to CLEO.   
When Scully placed her hand on it she could feel   
vibration. The scratching came from inside CLEO.   
  
Laying her flashlight on the floor Scully felt for the   
latch. There was no longer a scratching sound. Now she   
heard moaning. Someone was trapped inside.   
  
Sirens blared. Once. Twice. Three times. Then a low   
hum began to rise as if some huge electrical device was   
charging. Scully felt the hairs on her arm stand on end.   
That couldn't be a good sign. She found CLEO's latch   
next to an orange fluorescent "Danger" sign. Ignoring   
the warning, she turned the lever.  
  
Somewhere there was a loud click and the electrical hum   
changed to an ear splitting whine.   
  
She pulled the lever. The iron door was heavy. It   
almost didn't move. Using all of her weight Scully   
pulled harder. Slowly the hatch opened and she   
reached blindly into the darkness. She felt flesh.   
  
Pulling back Scully retrieved her flashlight and shone   
it into the drift chamber just as the sirens stopped.   
The strobe light stopped. It was still and dark and   
quiet.   
  
Scully's breathing quickened. Instinctual fear raced   
down her spine but she ignored it to look inside the   
chamber.   
  
Terrified brown eyes stared back at her.  
  
"Dr. Doerstling!"   
  
"Pull me out," he demanded. "Now!"  
  
A loud, ominous sound echoed down the corridor and the   
high pitched whine returned. Only now it became   
steadily louder until it reached an excruciating pitch.   
Sound vibrated through her.   
  
"We're going to die," Doerstling announced.  
  
"We aren't going to die," Scully countered as she   
strained to pull him from the chamber.  
  
"The hell we aren't. Can't you hear it?"  
  
"I can hear it."  
  
"We're going to die!"  
  
"No." Using her body as leverage Scully pulled harder.   
She was determined dislodge him.  
  
Then she saw it. At first it was a vague, bluish-purple   
light, but it grew steadily brighter as it moved   
ceaselessly forward. It became a menacing glare that  
blinded her.   
  
Scully flinched and closed her eyes, but the white hot   
light pierced her eyelids and seared her brain. Sound   
and light exploded around her as her skin sizzled in   
effervescent agony.   
  
He's right, Scully thought numbly. We're going to die.   
  
Light rushed through her.   
  
It was mind blowing. Mind altering. Unimaginable.   
  
Pain and power rolled together in a devastating,   
omnipresent wave that crushed her. . .and became her.   
  
Scully clutched her abdomen and a single thought   
pierced her confusion. "My baby."  
  
Then energy exploded out of her, taking her breath and   
strength with it. Scully fell to the floor. It was   
everywhere. It was everything...and she was nothing.   
  
Darkness fell.  
  
X X X  
  
Something happened. Something shifted. Mulder felt it.   
He couldn't explain it, but he knew it.   
  
The woman on the beach turned and saw him, and he was   
captured by a pair of shadowed blue eyes.  
  
"Mulder." It was just his name, but somehow she infused   
it with meaning.   
  
She knew him. She had called to him, and suddenly Mulder   
found an answer. "Scully." He knew her name as well   
as he knew his own.  
  
Scully blinked. "What is this place?"  
  
"I was hoping that you would know."  
  
"A dream?"  
  
Mulder shook his head. "No. If I was dreaming there   
would be more hot babes in bikinis--not that you aren't   
a hot babe, but you aren't exactly wearing a thong...are   
you? Scully, does the G-woman own a G-string?"  
  
Scully arched a brow and gave him a supremely feminine   
stare that said she had heard every word he had said,   
but was doing him a favor by ignoring it.  
  
"So much for that theory," he drawled.  
  
A thought or emotion darkened her eyes, and Scully   
turned away from him to stand at the water's edge.   
The silence bothered Mulder, and he approached her.   
He touched her shoulder.  
  
"Mulder, this has to be MY dream," Scully said softly.  
  
But that couldn't be true. He had been here before   
her. Mulder asked, "Why do you believe it's your dream?  
Is it impossible that this is real?"  
  
"Yes. It's impossible for many reasons, none of   
them good." Unshed tears filled her eyes.  
  
Mulder drew her to him, enveloping her in his   
embrace. Scully felt so small that he was surprised   
by the strength of her arms as they wrapped around him.  
  
"It's okay, Scully." Mulder had no idea where those   
words came from and was not at all sure he believed  
them, but still he reassured, "Everything will be   
okay."  
  
A single tear dampened her lashes, but Scully gave a  
small, enigmatic smile. It transformed her face,  
and Mulder couldn't breathe. He touched her. He   
had to. It was a compulsion he couldn't resist  
as his fingertips gently grazed her temple then  
followed the curve of her cheek. Scully's lips   
trembled as his thumb traced the curve of her mouth.  
  
She framed his face between her hands and rose to   
kiss him even as Mulder lowered his mouth toward hers.   
Five inches separated them, then three, then only  
two. She was a breath away. . .and then she   
was gone. As quickly as Scully had appeared, she   
was gone.  
  
"Scully!" he called but his voice was drowned by the   
sound of the ocean.  
  
X X X  
  
Georgetown Memorial Hospital  
Washington, D.C.  
6:50am  
  
Scully gasped, dragging air into her oxygen deprived   
lungs. She reeled with confusion and blinked at the   
brightness of the room.  
  
"Doctor, are you alright?"  
  
Scully turned and looked at the nurse then glanced over   
her shoulder to find the doctor the nurse spoke to.   
  
Then she saw... "Mulder?"  
  
In disbelief Scully approached him. Shock and confusion   
ricocheted through her. How was this possible? What   
was going on? But every question was second to the fact   
that Mulder was here. He was alive.   
  
Scully laid her hand across his brow. A hidden ache   
eased inside her as she felt the moist heat of his   
skin, the scrape of his stubble against her palm,   
and witnessed the even rise and fall of his breathing.   
  
An astonished smile curved her mouth.   
  
"You're back," Scully said in a low, choked voice and   
combed her fingers through his crisp hair. "You   
came back."  
  
"Dana?"  
  
Scully looked to the doorway in disbelief. "Daniel?   
What are you doing here?"  
  
Daniel crossed his arms and looked impatient. "Since   
you haven't answered any of about two dozen messages   
and haven't left the M.I.C.U. in two days, I decided   
it was time for the mountain to come to Muhammad."  
  
Messages? M.I.C.U.? What sort of bizarre dream or   
delusion was this? The last thing Scully remembered   
was being caught in an electron accelerator with Dr.   
Steven Doerstling. Scully frowned. No, that wasn't   
true. She remembered something else. She remembered   
standing on a beach with Mulder. He had called her   
name and touched her. For one timeless moment they   
had stood together, and Mulder had reassured her   
that everything would be okay.  
  
Now Scully looked at Mulder's pale, tortured features   
and wondered what was real and what wasn't. Which   
memory was true and which was only a dream born of   
too many sleepless nights and too much desperation?   
  
"I don't understand," Scully murmured.  
  
Daniel's face set in angry lines. "What's there to   
understand? I'm your husband and I want to talk to   
you."  
  
Her jaw fell. "Husband?"  
  
"Don't tell me you've already filed for divorce. You   
haven't left the hospital since you walked out."  
  
"Walked out? What are you talking about? I walked out   
ten years ago."  
  
"What is that supposed to mean?"  
  
"It doesn't mean--"  
  
Daniel interrupted. "Dana, please, give me a chance."   
His voice became soft and cajoling. "Have you filed   
for a divorce?"  
  
"No!" Scully looked around her in confusion.   
"No...I...why would I file for a divorce?"  
  
"Dr. Waterston," the nurse said.  
  
Scully waited for Daniel to answer her.  
  
The nurse tugged at Scully's sleeve and repeated, "Dr.   
Waterston."  
  
With a sudden sense of understanding Scully looked down   
at her hands and saw a gold wedding ring: SHE was the   
Dr. Waterston that the nurse addressed.  
  
The nurse finished, "There's someone wanting to speak   
with you about Mr. Mulder."   
  
Scully heard the nurse but couldn't move. Her mind   
was spinning. What the hell was going on?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Mobius Part II

TITLE: Mobius   
AUTHOR: L.A. Ward  
EMAIL ADDRESS: LAWard@aol.com   
URL: www.hometown.aol.com/laward/eclectic.html  
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Sure, just let me know.  
SPOILER WARNING: Anything through Season 7  
including Requiem  
RATING: PG-13 (for language)  
CLASSIFICATION: X/MSR/A  
  
X-file casefile with Mytharc  
MSR  
Scully Angst/Mulder Angst   
  
SUMMARY: While investigating the disappearance of  
a physicist, Scully finds someone she didn't   
expect--Mulder.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Never mine. Wish they were,   
but they belong to Chris. Have no money so don't  
bother to sue.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I cannot say enough nice things for   
the wonderful people who undertook the task of beta   
reading. Thanks to all of them, but special thanks to  
Shari, Rosemary, and Fran.  
  
  
  
******************************************************  
"We hover between awareness of being and loss of being.  
And the entire reality of memory becomes spectral."  
Gaston Bachelard   
"The Poetics of Space"  
******************************************************  
  
  
  
CHAPTER FIVE  
  
Cayuga Medical Center  
Ithaca, New York  
7:12am  
  
The world felt fuzzy and vague. She knew it was there,   
but she couldn't hold onto it. It kept slipping   
through her fingers. . .her aching fingers.   
  
Dana Waterston hurt all over.  
  
"Doctor, I think she's coming around," she heard someone  
announce.  
  
Dana tried to push herself to a sitting position. She   
was the doctor, and there was a patient who needed her  
if only she could make her muscles work.   
  
"No," a kind voice said. "You just lay back. You've   
been through quite enough, young woman."   
  
She managed to lift one eyelid to see a gray haired   
man leaning over her. "What. . .?" Dana croaked.  
  
"From what I know, you walked into a rather unusual  
situation. Heroics are all well and good, but if   
you aren't careful, you might get yourself killed."  
  
"Heroics?"   
  
"Here," the doctor offered. "Take a drink of water.   
That should help."  
  
Cool liquid slid down Dana's throat, and she was   
finally capable of opening both of her eyes. "What   
happened?" she asked.  
  
"You don't remember throwing yourself into an   
electron accelerator to rescue Steven Doerstling?"  
  
Dana blinked. Rescue THE Steven Doerstling? Someone   
on the staff had to be making some sort of sick joke.  
  
"No really, what happened?" Dana asked.  
  
The doctor frowned. "What day is it?"  
  
"Monday."  
  
"How many fingers am I holding up?"  
  
"Three."  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"Dana Scully Water--"  
  
He refilled her glass. "You sound lucid," he announced   
and made a note in her chart. "Don't worry about   
forgetting the accident. It's relatively common to   
lose the memory of a traumatic event leading to a   
blackout. Then again after looking at your   
rather...shall we say 'eventful' medical history, I   
assume you know that."  
  
He returned to her bedside. "I want to reassure you   
that all indications are that your baby is fine."  
  
Dana choked on her water. "What?"  
  
"When your medical charts were forwarded to us, I  
noticed the tests you had run in Washington. I assumed   
this was a high risk pregnancy. I ran an ultrasound,   
and, as I said, all indications are that the fetus is  
fine."  
  
She was pregnant. Now how in the hell had that   
happened? Daniel had had a vasectomy before he had even   
met her. He said that he didn't want more children,   
and, after witnessing the father he had been, Dana   
had decided his decision was a good one. She never   
wanted Daniel's child.   
  
So how was she pregnant? For that matter how had she   
climbed into an electron accelerator? This was nuts.   
Out of this world nuts.  
  
Then Dana remembered the doctor saying her medical   
records had been forwarded from Washington.  
  
"Where am I?" she asked.  
  
"Cayuga Medical Center. We're in Ithaca."  
  
New York. Dana felt hysteria rise inside her. This   
had to be a dream or nightmare or. . .something. It   
had to be anything but what it appeared to be. Short   
of starring in an episode of Star Trek, no one   
disappeared from one location to miraculously appear   
in another. It defied the laws of physics.   
  
A young man stuck his head through the door opening,   
"Agent Scully, you awake?"  
  
Dana frowned. He looked to be somewhere around the   
age of twenty-four, two days overdue for a shave and   
in desperate need of a comb. He was also a complete   
stranger.  
  
"When I called you with the b quark data I didn't   
think that you'd run out in the middle of the night   
to check out CLEO." Then he grinned. "Good thing   
you did though. Gotta hand it to the FBI. You pulled   
it off. I never thought to see Dr. Doerstling alive   
again. Do you get a medal or something for pulling   
that off?"  
  
He could as easily have been speaking Greek. Dana had  
absolutely no idea what he was talking about.  
  
"Hey, doc," he called just before her doctor left the   
room. "Can she go down the hall to see Doerstling?"  
  
The doctor frowned a moment then looked at her, "You   
think you're up to it?"  
  
Dana tested her limbs, and they felt sound. "What   
were my injuries?" she asked.  
  
"Almost none. Like I said, you're a lucky woman,   
Agent Scully. You seem to have come through   
without a scratch."  
  
Agent? She reviewed the last few minutes and   
remembered the younger man mentioning the FBI. Was   
this some bizarre dream brought on by several nights   
without sleep and at least one night sitting vigil   
over FBI Agent Fox Mulder?  
  
The young man handed her a white terry robe. "It was   
in the bathroom," he told her.  
  
While slipping it on, Dana tried to find her center   
of gravity as a wave of dizziness washed over her.  
  
"You okay?" the kid asked.  
  
Dana took a deep breath. "I'm fine."  
  
He grinned. "Well then, let's go see Doc Doerstling."  
  
She moved slowly down the hall because her muscles   
still ached, but the young stranger assured her they   
weren't going far.  
  
"Here we are," he announced as he pushed open the   
wide patient room door.  
  
There was an older man with salt and pepper hair and  
intelligent brown eyes sitting on a bed with a young   
blonde woman attending his every need. "I'm okay,   
Lauren," the reassured. Then he raised his head,   
and Dana thought he saw her.   
  
"Ah," he said, "the conquering hero."  
  
Dana swallowed her confusion and stepped tentatively   
into the room.  
  
The man's eyes narrowed. "Why do I have the feeling   
I have the pleasure of greeting Alice just after she   
fell down the rabbit hole?"  
  
X X X  
  
Georgetown Memorial Hospital  
Washington, D.C.  
7:12am  
  
"Sir," Scully said with vast relief as she pushed   
open the door to the M.I.C.U. waiting room to find  
Assistant Director Walter Skinner standing there.   
"I'm glad you're here."  
  
Skinner looked surprised then gratified by   
her statement. "I'm sorry I couldn't arrive sooner,   
doctor."  
  
Doctor?   
  
Skinner continued, "Since you called saying there was   
an intruder in Agent Mulder's room, I've arranged for   
a guard."  
  
Scully eyes narrowed. "Mulder is in danger? From   
whom?"  
  
Skinner's gaze darted away from her, and he adjusted his   
glasses. "I'm not sure." He paused, then took a breath.   
"Dr. Waterston, has there been any change in Mulder's   
condition?"  
  
Scully ducked her head. How was she supposed to answer   
that? She heard someone push open the waiting room door   
and looked to see who it was. Then her spine stiffened,   
and her chin rose defiantly. So the old bastard wasn't   
dead. Why wasn't she surprised?  
  
"Yes, doctor," the Smoking Man said in a quiet rumble.   
"Has Mulder's condition improved?" He casually reached   
into his pocket, removed a cigarette, and started to   
light it.  
  
Scully snatched it out of his hand. "There's no smoking   
in the hospital."  
  
She thought she saw amusement in the old man's rheumy   
eyes. "Yes, doctor."  
  
Scully glared at Skinner, but he only looked away.   
She frowned. What was going on? Skinner was acting  
strangely. He was compromised. Scully knew that. He   
had confessed it, but she still trusted him. Skinner   
had saved hers and Mulder's butts too many times for   
her not to trust him. But since he was compromised   
Scully had also learned not to depend on him.  
  
She examined the Smoking Man. He wasn't dead, and that   
was the only revelation of the last few minutes that   
didn't shock her. In fact, the only thing about him   
that surprised her was the state of his health. The   
last time she had seen him he had been pasty skinned   
and had announced that he was dying. Later both   
Krycek and Marita Covarrubias described him as being   
wheelchair bound and having a trache. . .and that   
had been before he was murdered. All in all he   
looked miraculously healthy.  
  
Putting on her best poker face, Scully decided to   
bluff her way out of this situation. "I'm not   
prepared to make any diagnosis at the moment."   
She looked at Skinner. "Am I to expect a guard   
in the M.I.C.U.?"  
  
Skinner nodded.  
  
When Scully moved to exit, CSM stopped her with   
a brush of his hand. "Will you have a prognosis   
later today?"   
  
Her eyes glinted with rebellion. "I don't know.   
Ask me later today."   
  
Once she left the room Scully took a deep breath.   
The world had gone insane. Everything was upside   
down and inside out. It was as if she had fallen   
into one of those parallel universes that Steven   
Doerstling had theorized.  
  
Scully stopped walking and began shaking her head.   
No, that was impossible. Things like that didn't   
happen. It was the kind of stuff Mulder liked to   
talk about but. . .  
  
Mulder.  
  
With renewed purpose Scully walked down the hall.   
At the nurses' station she demanded Mulder's   
medical chart before returning to his room.  
  
Daniel stood waiting for her. "I read the chart,"   
hesaid. "It's a fascinating case, but you're   
spending too much time on it. You're making it   
personal."  
  
"It is personal."  
  
She saw a muscle jump in Daniel's jaw. Over the   
years Scully had forgotten that quirk. Then   
again she had forgotten many things about Daniel.  
  
"What is this man to you?" he asked.  
  
She refused to answer. "Why are you still here?"   
  
"I wanted to speak with my wife."  
  
"She isn't here."  
  
Daniel crossed the room. "Dana, I know you're   
angry."  
  
"That's where you're wrong. I'm not angry. I   
have no reason to be angry, it's just that my   
life has nothing to do with yours."  
  
"How can you say that?"  
  
"Because it happens to be true." She wanted him to   
go away. Scully didn't know why Daniel thought she   
was his wife, and she didn't want to know. She only   
wanted him leave. Mulder needed her. "I'm sorry,   
Daniel. Whoever it is you're looking for, I'm not   
her."  
  
"That's not true."  
  
"It is true." Scully faced him squarely. "You   
don't want me. You want an admirer. An admirer with  
enough knowledge to be suitably impressed by your   
brilliance. I can't do that. I can't be that.   
I've never been much of a yes woman. I need a   
partner, not an idol."  
  
Daniel's gaze narrowed. "It's him."   
  
She ducked her head. "My relationship with Mulder   
has nothing to do with this."  
  
"Your 'relationship'?"  
  
"You aren't listening to me." Scully sighed. "You   
never listened to me."  
  
"You're having an affair." Daniel laughed and looked   
at her with what Scully thought was disbelief. "All   
the time I was feeling guilty, you were fucking   
another man."  
  
"Daniel, please--"  
  
He interrupted. "Are you in love with him?"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"It's a simple question." Daniel crossed his arms.   
"At least for most people it's simple. Though in your   
case perhaps I should rephrase it." He paused. "Do   
you allow yourself to love him? I know you always   
secretly hated the idea of loving me."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about."   
  
"It's always about control with you. Everything   
has to fit your little rules, your unbending ethics."   
Daniel walked around Mulder's bed but his gaze never   
left Scully. "This won't work, you know. You won't   
allow it to work. If your self-righteous morality   
hasn't killed it, your need for control will. You   
won't allow yourself to need anyone, or at least   
you won't allow yourself to BELIEVE that you do.   
Deep down you don't trust a soul."  
  
Scully blinked. She wasn't that woman. She wasn't  
deluding herself. She simply wasn't the person Daniel  
described, and Scully didn't mean that in the sense   
that he called her Dana and thought that she was his  
wife. It went deeper than that.   
  
It was true that she had used excuses to explain   
her distance from her parents. Scully had blamed a   
fear of disappointing her father. She had pointed to   
the differences between Melissa's mystical nature and   
her own more scientific one. She and Bill disagreed,   
period, and of course Charlie was better at creating   
emotional distance than she was. But that had been a   
lifetime ago.  
  
Scully looked at Mulder. Daniel's analysis had some   
foundation in truth, but he was wrong in one vital   
respect. She trusted Mulder absolutely.  
  
"Do you allow yourself to love him?" Daniel asked.  
  
Scully didn't look in Daniel's direction. "I won't   
discuss this with you."  
  
"Typical."  
  
Scully closed her eyes. This was turning into a bad   
soap opera. "Could you please go?"  
  
"Yes, I think I will. But one day you'll regret   
this."  
  
"I don't think so," she murmured.   
  
After Daniel left Scully looked at Mulder. "And I   
don't care if you are catatonic, you're smiling   
aren't you?"  
  
Scully reached to pull her hand through her hair   
and was surprised to discover it pulled back with   
a clip. It wasn't her style. "Mulder, I think   
your disappearing act has finally pushed me over   
the edge." She sank into the chair next to his  
bed. "I've lost my mind."  
  
Scully opened his chart and began reading. It was   
ominously familiar. She swallowed convulsively   
and reached for his hand. "Mulder," she rasped.   
"I hate to tell you this, but you're in big trouble."  
  
Threading her fingers through his she repeated   
in an inexpressibly sad voice, "Big trouble."  
  
X X X  
  
Cayuga Medical Center  
Ithaca, New York  
7:43am  
  
In an almost dreamlike state Dana stepped cautiously   
into Steven Doerstling's room.  
  
"Tell me, Agent Scully," Doerstling said, "am I cast in   
the role of the Cheshire Cat?"  
  
"I wouldn't know. It's been a very long time since I   
read Alice in Wonderland. What exactly does the   
Cheshire Cat do?"  
  
He laughed, though Dana wasn't at all sure anything   
she had said was amusing. Doerstling looked at Lauren   
Rice. "Why don't you and Mike go and have breakfast?   
I would like to speak with Agent Scully alone."  
  
"But Doctor," Lauren began to protest.  
  
"Give over, Lauren," Mike said impatiently. "There's   
no point in arguing with the man. We'll find an Egg  
McMuffin or something." Stilgoe escorted Lauren from   
the room.  
  
"Agent Scully, don't hover by the door," Doerstling  
admonished. "Come in."  
  
Dana took a single step forward. "Why do you call me   
Agent Scully?"  
  
"Aren't you Agent Scully?"  
  
She took a shaky breath. "My maiden name is Scully."  
  
"But you aren't with the FBI?"  
  
"No."  
  
"So you are Alice."  
  
Dana gathered her courage and took two more steps into   
the room. "Exactly what rabbit hole do you think I   
fell through?"  
  
"You better sit down Ms. . .?"  
  
"Waterston. But Scully will do just as well."  
  
He looked concerned. "You have no idea what has  
happened, do you? What am I saying? Of course you   
don't." His gaze met hers. "Ms. Waterston, you are   
a living breathing example of something that is   
completely impossible. And you are a very long way   
from home."  
  
"Is this where you tell me to click my heels three   
times and say there's no place like home?"  
  
"Wrong story."  
  
"Or the wrong dream?" she asked. "Weren't Alice and   
Dorothy only dreaming?"  
  
"This place is real, Ms. Waterston, and so is the place   
you were before. They are interdependent worlds."  
  
Dana arched a brow in disbelief. "Worlds? As in the   
plural? That's impossible."  
  
He smiled. "So I said."  
  
She shook her head. "No, I mean it's really   
impossible. There's no such thing. Alternate   
universes? That's the stuff of science fiction,   
not real science."  
  
"Most science fiction is based on real science."  
  
"Based and then extrapolated out of all proportion.   
Alternate universes do not exist."  
  
"But physics--science--theorizes that they do."  
  
Dana shook her head. "That's theory. It's supposition.  
It's not something that actually happens." She   
swallowed and was far less certain than she sounded.   
"It didn't happen to me."  
  
"But it did."  
  
"I have no proof of that." But even as she said it,   
Dana knew it was a lie. She was pregnant, wasn't she?   
Pregnant with a child that she didn't remember   
conceiving. Dana frowned. "How. . ." She paused and   
took a deep breath. "How is what you're proposing   
possible?"  
  
"I don't know. And though I don't want to sound   
conceited, if I don't know then no one does. Please   
sit, Ms. Waterston, we have a great deal to discuss."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
****************************************************  
"When in dreams I still remember..."  
Arthur L. Gilliom  
****************************************************  
  
  
CHAPTER SIX  
  
Georgetown Memorial Hospital  
Washington, D.C.  
7:43am  
  
Scully's hands shook, but she ignored the tremor. She  
walked around the nurses' station, past the charting   
kiosk, and into the med prep room. No one stopped her.   
No one questioned her right to be there. They didn't   
so much as look twice in her direction.   
  
It disturbed her.  
  
In medical school Scully had realized that if you   
behaved as though you belonged in staff areas of the   
hospital the personnel usually accepted you. But this   
was different. These strangers knew her. She should   
examine that, but she wouldn't. Not now. Some things   
couldn't bear scrutiny, and as far as Scully was   
concerned, this was one of them.  
  
Scully didn't plan to ignore what was going on around  
her. It was just that her surroundings had no bearing   
on the problem at hand. Her first priority was Mulder.   
He had a specific medical problem and that had to be  
addressed first. She couldn't allow confusion about   
her surroundings to distract her. Mulder needed her.   
  
In medicine and in the FBI indecision could prove fatal.  
Scully lived with that knowledge every day, and the only   
way to deal with it was to have a clear and simple set   
of priorities. A person's life came first. In a crisis   
situation anything else was superfluous, so Scully   
silenced the inner voice that warned her extraordinary   
things were happening if only she would stop and notice.   
  
Of course, Mulder would claim inexplicably bizarre   
circumstances weren't superfluous.  
  
That was the difference between them--not that Mulder  
would ever turn his back on a person in need. It was  
just that Mulder started with the idea of proving the  
impossible. Scully couldn't do that. She clung to some  
semblance of objectivity, and she knew that tendency   
frequently drove Mulder up a wall.   
  
Scully had tried to explain it to him. As a scientist   
she had to rely on the scientific method--objective   
observation, coherent hypotheses, and quantifiable   
results. She couldn't allow was her own needs or bias   
to influence her choices. Scully wasn't allowed to   
predetermine the answer she wanted. Science demanded   
that she focus solely on the facts, and because of that   
there were questions Scully simply couldn't ask.  
  
Maybe that was why she had found her niche in the   
X-Files. Mulder asked those questions for her.   
He kept alive that part of herself that science   
demanded that she ignore.   
  
But Mulder wasn't here...or at least he hadn't been   
here. Now he was, and that in itself was a question   
she should reflect upon. Instead--as always--Scully   
took action.   
  
She punched a code she had found in Dana Waterston's  
pocket PDR into the Pyxis machine, the pharmaceutical   
equivalent of a vending machine, and retrieved a   
sedative. If Scully claimed what she was about to do   
didn't bother her, she would be lying. However after   
reading Mulder's chart, Scully had made a decision, and  
in good conscience she could not make that decision   
alone.  
  
She left the med room and nodded to the nurse. Then  
she walked down the hall to Mulder's room. Once   
inside Scully took a hypodermic from her pocket. Her  
hands still shook as she inserted the needle the   
into the small glass vial and drew down the stopper.  
  
Scully had performed this procedure a thousand times,  
but this was different. This was Mulder, and Scully   
hated what she was about to do. She was about to   
inject Mulder with a near fatal dose of a drug for   
nothing more than a few moments of lucidity. It was   
necessary, but it felt wrong.  
  
Scully looked at him. His face appeared impassive,  
yet she knew he was in pain. She remembered   
Mulder describing his mental anguish during his   
hospitalization last fall. He had been in hell, and   
now it was happening again.   
  
Scully's most vivid memory of that period was Mulder   
standing in a padded cell screaming her name. Diana   
Fowley had barred her from seeing him. Even Diana's   
later sacrifices couldn't expunge the bitterness Scully   
felt at being denied the chance to help Mulder. He had   
needed her.  
  
Now it was happening again, and Diana Fowley was   
nowhere to be found. And nothing on earth--or anywhere   
else for that matter-- would keep Scully from reaching   
Mulder.   
  
She glanced at the EEG, reading the abnormal results   
on screen. Something had been removed from Mulder's   
brain last year, and now it was back. It was killing   
him. Scully could ignore every other horrifyingly   
bizarre aspect of her situation. She could place   
in some controlled corner of her mind that Daniel   
thought she was his wife, that the supposedly deceased   
Smoking Man was alive and more well than the last time   
she had seen him. Scully could even manage to deal   
with both Skinner and the hospital staff believing   
she was a neurologist. The thing she could not   
ignore, could not deny was that Mulder was dying.  
  
She would not allow that to happen.  
  
Scully tapped the hypodermic needle and approached   
the bed.   
  
X X X  
  
There was a flash, a blinding moment of pain, then  
a prickling sensation not unlike the phantom pins and   
needles felt when a limb that had gone to sleep   
suddenly had circulation restored...only this was   
a thousand times worse. Agony pierced Mulder's mind and   
impaled his consciousness. Then it slowly dissipated,   
fizzling like fireworks after a burst of light.   
  
He was free.  
  
Mulder blinked and found himself staring up at two   
foot by two foot acoustical ceiling tiles. There   
was movement at his side. He turned and saw her.  
  
"Scully," he croaked.  
  
Scully smiled, and it softened the lines and curves   
of her face. It gave her a muted glow that seemed   
to emanate from somewhere deep within, and when her   
smile reached the shadowed depths of her eyes they   
turned a pure, crystalline blue.  
  
"You know me?" she asked.  
  
Yes? No? Maybe? Mulder wasn't sure. He didn't know.   
He had no memory of her, and yet...  
  
"You were in my dream--on the beach," he rasped.  
  
Something flickered in Scully's eyes. Some complex,   
multi-layered emotion that passed over her then   
coalesced into a singular sadness.   
  
Mulder reached to comfort her. "Scully..."  
  
She gripped his hand with surprising strength. "We   
don't have much time," she told him. "Nowhere near   
enough time. You're dying."  
  
He gave a grim smile. "Don't waste time with tact.   
Give it to me straight. I can take it."  
  
"I'm sorry--"  
  
"Don't be." Mulder squeezed her hand.  
  
"I didn't tell you this so you could act insanely  
brave," Scully snapped. "I'm telling you because I   
think there is someone who can save you."  
  
"Does she have red hair?"   
  
"It's the Smoking Man."  
  
He tensed. "No."  
  
"Listen to me--"  
  
"No. You can't trust that black lunged bastard."  
  
"I know that."  
  
"Do you?" Mulder's gaze narrowed. "How? Who are you?"  
  
"Your friend," she vowed. "Always your friend."   
  
He looked down at their clasped hands.   
  
"Mulder..." On her lips his name was little more  
than a breath, a sigh. "I know something about what's   
wrong with you. I know you can hear what I'm thinking."  
  
He attempted to sit up.   
  
"No," Scully protested and gently pushed him back   
against the pillows. "I want you to look at me. I   
know you have no reason to trust the Smoking Man.   
I'm not asking that you do. I'm asking you to   
trust me."  
  
Mulder shook his head.  
  
"Please, Mulder. There are things I can't say. Things   
that I don't have time to explain, and even if I   
had the time, I don't know that I COULD." Her grip  
tightened painfully. "But I need you to understand,   
and I need your trust before it's too late."   
  
Mulder gazed at her, and images tumbled through his   
head. Her memories? His memories? Mulder wasn't sure.   
He couldn't know...No. They couldn't be his memories.   
He lived his life alone. Mulder was suspicious of his   
superiors and mocked by his co-workers. His sister had   
been abducted, his father murdered, and his mother dead   
by her own hand. There was no one with whom he shared   
a connection or bond.   
  
He had a few friends--Frohike, Langly, Byers--but there   
was no confidante. No one who knew his secrets or his   
terrible truths. No one who shared his path.   
  
He was alone.   
  
What an incredibly depressing thought. It was true,   
but it was still depressing. If he fell off the earth   
tomorrow, no one would notice except the FBI payroll   
accountant, and no one would care except his fish when   
the automatic feeder ran out. Hell, now that Mulder   
thought about it, if it wasn't for survival instinct   
he had no reason to fight what was happening to him.   
  
So why did he matter to her? And how did he know her?   
How could he possibly remember Scully holding out her   
hand saying she had been assigned to work on the   
X-Files?   
  
Mulder also remembered responding snidely, "I was   
under the impression you were sent to spy on me."  
  
Then the memory faded and another took its place.   
  
Wind howled in a low minor chord that resonated with   
despair as a blizzard raged in beyond a door. It was   
the Arctic Ice Core Project, and Mulder saw himself   
holding a gun on a man, a woman...and Scully. "I   
don't trust you," Mulder yelled. "I wouldn't turn   
my back on any of you."  
  
Again his memory shifted, and Scully alone dared   
enter the room where he stood.  
  
"I don't trust them," he had confessed. "But I   
WANT to trust you."   
  
Months passed. Or was it seconds? Years? He   
didn't know and couldn't tell. Mulder had no   
reference point as images sped by. Images so   
vivid they seemed real...or were they real? Had   
they happened?  
  
Scully lay ill in a hospital bed. Her translucent   
skin had lost its glow, and her eyes looked tired   
and pained. She was dying. Dying because she had   
joined him in peering into the dark corners. Dying   
because of him, and yet Scully was willing to   
sacrifice more.  
  
"You have to say I'm the one who killed that man,"   
Scully urged.  
  
"I can't do that."  
  
"Yes, you can. If I can save you, let me."   
  
Let her sacrifice herself for him? It defied   
Mulder's imagination.   
  
Then a miracle happened and Scully recovered. She   
hadn't left him, and something inside him that had   
come perilously close to breaking remained intact.  
  
Somewhere in the recesses of Mulder's mind he heard   
Scully say, "When I met you, you told me that your   
sister had been abducted by aliens, and that event   
marked you so deeply that nothing else mattered."  
  
YOU matter, Mulder thought.  
  
"I didn't believe you," Scully confessed. "But I   
believed in you. I followed you on nothing more   
than your faith that the truth was out there. Based   
not on fact, not on science, but on your memories.   
Memories were all that you had."  
  
Just as memories were all Scully had now. Memories   
that came to Mulder in an inexplicable rush. Small   
ones. Inconsequential ones. Happy ones.  
  
Scully stood on a chair in his office raising her   
face to the sunlight spilling through a skylight as   
she relished a creamy white confection.  
  
"Did you bring enough to share with the rest of the   
class?" Mulder drawled.  
  
"It's not ice cream," Scully warned. "It's a non-fat   
tofutti rice dreamsicle."  
  
Mulder made a face. "I bet the air in my mouth tastes   
better than that." He leaned back in his chair,   
bracing his feet against the top edge of his desk.   
"Scully, you really know how to live it up."  
  
"Oh yeah, and you're mister 'let's squeeze every last   
drop out of this sweet life,' aren't you?"  
  
He arched one eyebrow.  
  
Scully shook her head. "Here we are on a beautiful   
Saturday morning, and you've got us grabbing life   
by the testes."  
  
Mulder almost laughed, and there was a look in Scully's   
eyes that said she was onto him. "Let sleeping dogs lie,"  
she admonished.  
  
He crossed his arms. "I'm not going to sit idly by as   
you hurl clichés at me. Preparation is the father of   
inspiration."   
  
"Necessity is the mother of invention."  
  
"The road to excess leads to the palace of wisdom."  
  
"Eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we may die."  
  
"I scream, you scream, we all scream for non-fat   
tofutti rice dreamsicles!" And he pounced, wrestling   
her for the ice cream as her crystal clear laughter   
echoed in his ears.  
  
Later, at a baseball field Scully crossed the distance   
between them. Mulder handed her the bat and wrapped   
his arms around her saying the most outrageous things   
he could think of.   
  
"You've got to remember," he murmured. "Hips before   
hands." Then he touched her and demonstrated what he   
meant.  
  
Scully moved in rhythm with him.   
  
"We're going to make contact," Mulder whispered in her   
ear. "We aren't going to think. We're just going to   
let it fly."  
  
Together they hit the baseball out of the park.   
  
With his arms wrapped around her, Mulder found   
himself talking and talking. Nothing he said made   
much sense, but somehow it meant everything when   
Scully gave a rare, wonderful smile.   
  
"Shut up, Mulder." Her soft voice washed over him.   
"I'm playing baseball."  
  
And something fell into place. His jagged edges and   
asymmetrical outcroppings found their niche. This  
was it. This was where he fit in that inexplicable   
jigsaw puzzle of life. Mulder belonged beside her.  
  
Another memory surfaced.   
  
"I never made the world a happier place," he murmured.  
  
Scully took his hand and replied, "Oh, I don't know,   
I'm relatively happy."  
  
But happiness slipped from Mulder's grasp as shadows   
lengthened and fell across his pathway. The sun  
dipped below the horizon, and they stood in the night  
darkened halls outside of A.D. Skinner's office. "I   
won't lose you," he vowed to Scully, but somehow he   
knew that he had.  
  
Scully's gaze filled with an emotion Mulder could not   
define but understood completely as he saw himself   
through her eyes. Mulder was stunned. He saw his   
arrogance and his obsessions. He saw the futility   
of his anger and witnessed his carelessness and self   
destruction. But--through her--Mulder also saw more.   
  
Scully saw strength in him. She found honor and   
compassion. She believed in his integrity, and   
valued his quest for truth. Scully saw more in Mulder   
than he had ever seen in himself. And though she   
knew all of his weaknesses and mistakes, Scully saw   
something he had never seen. She saw a man worth   
saving...   
  
And there was something more. Something Scully   
would not or could not say. Something awful and   
terrible and final--something exhilarating, and   
miraculous, and true. It was beyond Mulder's reach   
and becoming more so by the moment as sanity slipped   
from his grasp.   
  
Mulder gripped her hand as the tide of the mental   
storm overtook him. Wave after wave of thought   
battered him, choked him, and dragged him to murky   
depths.   
  
No, Mulder thought. Not yet. Wait! There was something   
he had to say.  
  
"Scully," he whispered.  
  
"I'm here."  
  
"I trust you."   
  
And the tide pulled him under.  
  
X X X  
  
A tear slipped down Scully's cheek as she stared at   
Mulder and knew without being told that he was no longer   
with her. Scully looked at their entwined fingers. Even  
now they held one another fiercely, and she didn't want   
to let go. Walking away wasn't a choice, but she   
couldn't stand still and do nothing. Scully had to   
fight for both of them, so she brushed her fingertips   
across his lips and said a silent good-bye.   
  
Scully gasped when she opened the door to find a guard   
standing in the hall. She nodded to him then made   
her way to the nurses' station.  
  
Scully asked the nurse, "Do you remember the man   
who was here earlier? The older one with the   
cigarettes and the dark suit?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Good. When he arrives, I want you to page me.   
I don't care what time it is. Page me." Scully   
started to walk away.  
  
"Doctor," the nurse called. "What name should I   
use when I page you? I mean, who is he?"  
  
"Spender. Just call him Mr. Spender." Scully pushed   
through the security doors prepared to make a deal   
with the devil.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
******************************************************  
"I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir," said Alice,  
"because I'm not myself, you see."  
Lewis Carroll  
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland  
******************************************************  
  
CHAPTER SEVEN  
  
Cayuga Medical Center  
Ithaca, New York  
8:12 am  
  
Dana Waterston stared at her face in the mirror. Only   
it wasn't her face...not exactly. She looked thinner.   
Her features were slightly more defined, and her hair   
was a darker, more fiery red. Dana glanced over her   
shoulder. "How?" she asked Dr. Doerstling.  
  
Doerstling was silent for a moment then said, "Grab   
the legal pad on the table."  
  
Dana walked across the room.  
  
"Rip out a page," he told her. "Then fold it in half   
lengthways. Now fold it again. Make it about an inch   
wide." Once she had followed his instructions Doerstling   
added, "Now twist one side and bring the two ends   
together. What do you have?"  
  
Dana straightened the edges of the paper. "It's a   
mobius strip."   
  
"You asked 'how?' That's my best answer." Doerstling   
held out his hand, and she placed the strip in it. He   
examined it. "A few minutes ago this sheet of paper was   
easily defined. It had clear dimensions--a top and a   
bottom."   
  
"But a mobius strip only has one side."  
  
"Exactly. A twist erased boundaries. Where once there   
was a top and bottom, now there's neither...and both."   
He handed her the mobius strip. "A simple action   
changed everything."  
  
Dana shook her head as the implications of his statement   
struck her and made an unhappy muddle in her head. She   
frowned. "Sort of an incomplete explanation,isn't it?"  
  
"A very incomplete explanation, but the best I can do  
on short notice."  
  
Dana felt herself questioning whether she had actually   
heard what she thought she had. "A simple action  
erasing boundaries between dimensions?" Even to her   
own ears Dana sounded doubtful...which was good because   
that was the way she felt.  
  
"That's it in a nutshell," Doerstling told her.  
  
"I don't believe it."  
  
"You may not believe it, but you're living it."   
  
She WAS living it. Dana wanted to deny it, but she   
couldn't. She could look out the window and see trees   
and sunlight. She could feel the mobius strip in her   
hand. There was nothing vague or indistinct about her   
surroundings. This was real.  
  
Doerstling continued, "I also have to confess that I'm   
the one who started this mess. It's my fault that you're   
here."   
  
Dana approached his bed. "Care to explain how?"  
  
"I would rather not, but I owe you an explanation."   
His gaze lifted to hers. "I'm a difficult, arrogant,   
and self absorbed man."  
  
"That's quite a confession."  
  
"But a true one." He paused then added, "Arrogance and   
self absorption can lead a man to make foolish choices."  
  
Dana wasn't sure how to respond to that.  
  
He looked at the closed door. "You met my assistant  
Lauren. She's a very attractive young woman. It   
probably shouldn't surprise me that she walked into   
my office last week, and I felt desire." Doerstling's   
gaze lifted to Dana's. "But it did surprise me--and not   
because she's half my age or because in normal   
circumstances I would be more attracted to Mike Stilgoe."   
  
Dana looked toward the wheelchair in the corner.  
  
"No," he said softly. "Not even because of the   
monster in the corner."   
  
She took a seat next to his bed as Doerstling confessed,  
"It didn't take long for me to realize that what I felt   
had nothing to do with Lauren and everything to do with   
youth. Tell me, Ms. Waterston, do you remember what it   
was like to be that age? Do you remember the days   
before your path was set? A time when the world was   
full of possibilities, and you could do or become   
anything?"  
  
Dana almost nodded, but Doerstling didn't seem to need  
a reply. With his gaze fixed on some invisible point  
in space he said, "Year by year our options become fewer   
and change becomes less likely. At some point we realize   
that the path we're on is the path we must stay   
on. It's too late to change. There isn't enough   
time to start over." He looked at her. "Of   
course, you haven't reached that point yet. You're   
still relatively young."  
  
While that might be true, Dana secretly admitted that  
it didn't always feel that way.  
  
"To make a long story short," Doerstling told her. "I   
looked at Lauren and it was like looking at all of   
the roads I didn't take. What if I had zigged left   
instead of zigging right in that motorcycle accident?   
What if after the accident I hadn't locked myself in the   
physics department?"  
  
He looked at the wheelchair. "I allowed myself to   
become a slave to that contraption. Without my  
choice, my path was set and there was no going back."   
  
As if he felt her eyes on him, Doerstling snapped, "Don't   
look at me with sympathy. It's easy enough for me to   
wallow in self pity without your help. That was what I   
was doing when I chose the most outrageous form of self   
destruction I could imagine."  
  
"The accelerator," Dana realized.   
  
"Yes. The accelerator. You see, I remembered who I had   
been before the accident. I was a kid who wanted to push   
the boundaries, to attempt the impossible. Explore. I   
betrayed that kid, and I owe him."  
  
"To push the limits?"  
  
"It's what I did, isn't it? Who else--other than   
yourself--has been insane enough to jump into an   
electron accelerator?"  
  
"I didn't jump into an accelerator," Dana insisted.  
  
"Your counterpart did."  
  
"To save you."  
  
Doestling grimaced. "I'm sorry about that. I dragged   
both of you into a mess. I ran an unscheduled test   
of the CESR and climbed inside it not caring if it   
killed me. I simply wanted to do something that had   
never been done." He smiled. "You have to admit I   
accomplished that quite spectacularly."   
  
"I thought I--" Dana stopped. "That is, I thought  
Agent Scully stopped you."  
  
"No, this was the week before. I ran an experiment,   
and, like yourself, I became...someone else. Or to be  
more precise, I became a version of myself who had   
lived a different life. I could walk again, and I   
was no longer THE Steven Doerstling." He looked at   
the wheelchair. "I had never been introduced to the   
monster."  
  
Dana looked at the mobius strip she still held in   
her hand. A simple twist had changed everything.  
  
Doerstling looked somewhat amused. "I have to admit   
that as soon as I became used to anonymity, I hated   
it. Without the monster, my other self never   
stopped moving long enough to become 'the' Steven   
Doerstling...and I missed the feeling of being THE   
Steven Doerstling." He smiled self mockingly. "I   
said I was egocentric."  
  
"So what happened?" Dana pressed. "How did I become   
involved?"   
  
"While leading another life, I never stopped to think   
about what happened to my other self in this one.   
Thankfully some men have more conscience than I do."   
Doerstling cleared his throat. "From what I've been   
told Arnold found my counterpart in the accelerator.   
He was was disoriented and understandably perturbed   
with suddenly becoming a quadriplegic."  
  
Dana frowned. "Arnold?"  
  
"Arnold Blackwood. A rather pedantic colleague of   
mine. I don't know. Perhaps I should give Arnold more   
credit. He seems to have a fair grasp of the situation   
and kept it secret until he had a chance to run another   
round of tests." The professor smiled wanly. "It seems   
that Arnold missed 'the' Steven Doerstling and wanted   
him back. You have to understand, to Arnold, physics   
is everything."  
  
"So you were reported missing while Blackwood hid the   
other Doerstling. Meanwhile, Agent Scully was brought   
in to investigate."  
  
Doestling nodded. "She must have discovered some clue   
because she was caught in the accelerator trying to   
rescue my other self."  
  
Dana shook her head in disbelief. "This is fantastic--and   
I don't mean that in a 'gee whiz' kind of way. This is   
beyond belief."  
  
"I have to protest. It makes a certain amount of   
scientific sense."  
  
"Only in theory," Dana argued.  
  
"You're here, aren't you? How theoretical is that?"  
  
"So how do I get back? Another trip through the   
accelerator?"  
  
"I wouldn't advise that. We don't know what would   
happen."  
  
"It worked before."  
  
"We think," Doestling stressed. "Who knows what happened   
to that other me. Did HE make it home successfully?   
There are too many unknowns, too many unforeseen   
consequences. What if things don't go back to the way   
they were before? What if you ended up somewhere else?   
Somewhere worse? And then there are the physical dangers.   
Jumping into an electron accelerator isn't a reasonable   
course of action."  
  
"You did it."  
  
"I was also borderline suicidal, and before you mention   
the other version of yourself, she was trying to rescue   
me. I wasn't joking when I said it was an act of   
heroism." Doerstling looked at Dana intently. "If you   
go back into the accelerator it isn't just your own life   
you're risking."  
  
Dana's breath caught. How true. She knew Doestling   
referred to the alternate version of herself, but Dana's   
first thought was of the life growing inside of her.   
There was a baby to consider. Could she willingly risk   
a child's life? Would her other self wish her to?   
Somehow Dana knew Agent Scully would be dead set against   
it. Scully would protect her baby above all things. The   
child could not be risked in a desperate attempt to   
climb out of a rabbit hole.  
  
So now what, Dana thought with dismay. Assume another  
woman's life? And do what? Be what? Who was   
Dana Scully? Who was the father of this child? And  
how would he feel about a stranger taking Dana Scully's  
place?  
  
X X X  
  
Washington D.C.  
10:58am  
  
Scully sat alone in Dana Waterston's car in a dangerous   
neighborhood, but she hardly noticed. She was too   
distracted by everything that had happened in the last   
few hours. How could she think about anything as   
mundane as where she was parked?  
  
When she had exited the hospital and walked into the   
physician's parking lot, Scully had realized that   
she had no idea what car she was looking for. Luckily   
the key chain in her pocket had a remote locking   
device so Scully had slowly walked through the   
parking lot clicking the button until there was a   
beep and a flash of headlights.  
  
Once behind the steering wheel of a black Lexus,   
Scully had driven directly to a pharmacy and bought   
a pregnancy test. As a general rule, Scully didn't   
put much stock in intuition, but she couldn't deny   
that even before she took the test she had known   
what the result would be.   
  
No baby.   
  
Scully had stared at the pink stick as a dark   
emotion washed over her. It was as if that pink   
spot embodied every unjust and unfair thing she had   
ever experienced--which was ridiculous. It was   
nothing more than a simple medical test. It wasn't   
the universe saying, "You can have Mulder or the   
baby. You can't have both."   
  
Scully shook her head and forced herself into motion.   
She didn't like the direction of her thoughts or the   
sadness snaking through her. If everything was   
spinning out of control, Scully had to do something   
to set it right.  
  
She opened the car door, and walked across the street   
to enter a small, cluttered pawn shop. A bell rang   
as the door closed behind her, and a painfully thin   
young man came out of a back room.  
  
"What can I do for you?" he asked distractedly,   
glancing over his shoulder to watch the opening   
credits of "All My Children" on the television set   
in the back room.  
  
"I was looking for a gun."  
  
He pulled his attention from Erica Kane. "Gun?"   
He looked at Scully, but his eyes were too vacant   
and distracted to look surprised. He walked around   
a glass case. "Shotgun or handgun?" he asked.  
  
"Handgun."  
  
"Okay...um...you like any of these?"  
  
He's not familiar with weapons, Scully quickly   
concluded. She was virtually certain he knew   
little or nothing about guns. She inspected the   
weapons in the case. "These two."  
  
He gingerly removed a Beretta 9mm and a Sig Sauer.   
Scully took the one he dangled from his fingertips.   
Did he think it was going to bite him?  
  
Scully examined the Sig, then reached for the Beretta.   
She inspected the safety catch and tested the weapon's   
weight in her hand.   
  
"These will do," she said quietly then looked at the   
man who once again had his eye on the television in   
the back room. "Ammunition?" Scully asked.  
  
His gaze swiveled around. "Huh?"  
  
"Ammunition."  
  
"Oh...uh... Dick keeps that stuff under the counter.   
I don't know much about it though." The man pulled   
out the drawer. "Um...uh...whaddya want?"  
  
Scully walked around the counter to where the man   
crouched and examined the boxes. She pushed one or   
two boxes aside before finding what she needed.   
Scully handed the boxes to the clerk. "I'll take   
these."  
  
He frowned. "Am I...uh...allowed to just sell   
these to you? I mean isn't there a waiting period   
or something? Forms you've got to fill out?"  
  
Scully had anticipated this. After leaving the   
pharmacy she had rummaged through Dana's pocketbook   
and found a checkbook with the insignia of a bank   
on the checks. Scully had then driven to the bank   
and removed a relatively substantial amount of cash   
from the Waterston account.  
  
"How much for the guns and the ammunition?" Scully   
asked briskly.  
  
He frowned in confusion, then looked at the guns and   
the boxes. "Maybe I should call Dick."  
  
Scully starting counting out cash, laying bill after  
bill on the glass counter. "I think Dick would be  
satisfied with this amount, don't you?"   
  
The clerk's eyes were huge. "Uh...yeah, guess so.   
But there's still those forms--"  
  
She laid a hundred dollar bill on top of the stack.   
"That should cover it, I think." She paused then   
lifted her eyes to his. "Don't you?"  
  
He glanced anxiously toward the back room as if   
looking for the aforementioned 'Dick.' When the  
man didn't appear, the clerk seemed to come to a   
conclusion and picked the money up from the   
counter. He folded the cash in half then shoved it   
into his back pocket. "What Dick don't know   
won't bother him much."  
  
Scully frowned but silently picked up the gun   
and the box.  
  
"You know how to shoot that thing?" the clerk asked.  
  
Scully was actually surprised by the question. For  
her, carrying a gun was more familiar than carrying   
a purse. "I know what I'm doing." Scully nodded to   
him and left the pawn shop.  
  
One more law broken in the space of a couple of   
hours, Scully thought with mild disgust. Quite a   
record for a law officer. She should be ashamed of   
herself, but she wasn't--not when Mulder's life hung   
in the balance.  
  
After driving for about fifteen minutes Scully turned   
the corner at a familiar intersection and found   
herself in an area of crumbling warehouses. There   
had been an effort for gentrification of the area in   
the eighties, but at some point the developers had   
cried surrender and allowed the district to sink to   
its natural equilibrium--urban grunge.  
  
Scully stopped in front of a non-descript grayish   
building of indeterminate age. Nothing distinguished   
the building from its neighbors. Everything indicated   
that the it was deserted. Scully prayed it wasn't.  
  
X X X  
  
Melvin Frohike sat in front of the security monitor  
watching a woman park a Lexus. She was conspicuously   
out of place in this neighborhood of seedy shops and   
abandoned warehouses.  
  
"Twenty minutes and that car will be stolen," Langly  
predicted.  
  
"Fifteen," Frohike countered. "Tops."   
  
Byers asked, "Why is she sitting there without moving?"  
  
Langly stopped chewing his nacho chips long enough to  
mumble, "She's probably pulling a map out of the glove   
compartment. No way did she mean to end up here."   
Salsa fell on his Def Leppard t-shirt. "Damn. I'll  
be right back."  
  
Frohike glanced at Byers.   
  
"I did laundry yesterday." Byers assured and screwed  
the lid on the jar of salsa. He looked at the monitor  
and frowned. "She's staying."  
  
Frohike watched the woman step out of the car and   
whistled softly. "A looker."  
  
"What is she doing?"  
  
"Crossing the road."   
  
The woman stopped below their camera and looked up.  
  
"It's almost like she knows we're here," Byers said  
breathlessly.  
  
Frohike frowned. "I think she does."  
  
"How?"  
  
"How should I know?" Frohike headed toward the door.   
"But a woman in a Lexus does not drive to this part   
of town, park her car, walk to the door of what looks   
like an abandoned building, and look directly into a   
hidden camera without a reason."  
  
"Do we let her in?"  
  
Frohike straightened his slightly faded black t-shirt   
and glanced into the mirror. He brushed back his hair  
--or rather what was left of his hair--and adjusted his   
glasses. "A gentleman does not leave a lady standing   
on the doorstep. I thought your mother taught you   
manners."  
  
Byers bristled at the insult.   
  
"Just kidding," Frohike added but he wondered why his   
buddy wasn't as giddy over this chickadee as he had been   
over Susanne Modeski. Then Frohike glanced back at the   
monitor and understood. This woman was different. There   
was nothing soft or wispy about her. Gravitas. Yeah,   
that was the word. She had presence and authority.   
  
Frohike waited, but she didn't fidget or give any   
indication that she was the least bit uncomfortable as   
she waited for the door to be answered. In fact her face   
was almost unreadable, yet somehow she still managed to   
communicate impatience...or maybe it was urgency.  
  
Byers unlocked the last of the seven locks on the door.  
  
"Well, hello pretty lady," Frohike drawled.  
  
She stepped over the threshold.   
  
"Is there something we could do for you?" Byers asked.  
  
She looked Frohike dead in the eye. "Yes, you can help   
me save Mulder's life."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
********************************************************  
"The shifts of fortune test the reliability of friends."  
Cicero  
De Amicitia XVII  
********************************************************  
  
CHAPTER EIGHT  
  
Langly entered the room pulling a "Napster rules and   
Metallica Sucks!" t-shirt over his head.  
  
Frohike shook his head. "I never thought I'd see the   
day."  
  
"What?"  
  
"The shirt."   
  
Langly shrugged. "Screw the RIAA and Ulrich. Music to   
the people. Besides, I can to listen Limp Bizkit   
instead."  
  
Scully cleared her throat and the Lone Gunmen looked at   
her. Having caught their attention she wondered   
what she should do next. How could she convince them to   
help her when as far as they were concerned she was a   
stranger? For one slightly insane moment Scully   
considered telling them the truth. Only there was no   
rational explanation for what was happening, and she   
refused to make an irrational one. The Lone Gunmen   
might be paranoid, but they weren't crazy.   
  
"Who are you?" Langly asked.  
  
"Scully."  
  
"Is that like Madonna?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"No first name. No last name, just Scully?"  
  
"My name is Dana Scully," she supplied.  
  
Byers approached her. "Okay, Ms. Scully, who are you,   
and why do you think Mulder needs our help?"  
  
Scully paused and thought about what she needed to say.   
"I'm Mulder's friend and for the moment I'm also   
his doctor."  
  
Frohike frowned. "Doctor?"  
  
Scully nodded. "Mulder is in the M.I.C.U. at Georgetown   
Memorial."  
  
"What's wrong with him?"  
  
"Anomalous brain activity." She glanced away. "It's   
killing him."  
  
"Shit."  
  
Exactly.  
  
Langly looked confused. "You said we could help him.   
How? We're not exactly brain surgeons."  
  
The moment had arrived to convince them to trust her,  
but Scully wasn't sure how. She knew a great deal   
about them because when stuck on boring stakeouts   
Mulder liked to tell stories and the Lone Gunmen could   
be depended upon for an amusing anecdote. However   
blurting out that she knew private details about their   
lives would hardly inspire trust in three conspiracy   
nuts. It would scare the crap out of them. So what   
was she going to do? What did she have to offer?  
  
"I'm the only chance Mulder has," Scully told them.  
  
The three men looked at one another, and as if by   
silent agreement Frohike asked, "Could you excuse   
us for a moment?"  
  
Scully nodded and the three men stepped away.  
  
X X X  
  
As soon as they stepped into the back room Byers  
asked, "So?"  
  
"So what?" Langley countered. "She didn't say   
anything."  
  
"Yes, she did. She said she needed our help."  
  
"Don't go mushy, white collar knight on me," Langly  
snapped. "Remember your little Matahari."  
  
Frohike rolled his eyes. "Don't throw Susanne in his   
face."  
  
"Fine. Sorry I mentioned her." Langly didn't look too  
apologetic. "But what do we know about this woman?   
Nothing. We have no idea what she's really up to."  
  
"She said she's Mulder's friend," Byers insisted.  
  
"Are you listening to yourself? Mulder? Friends?"  
  
Byers dropped his gaze to the floor and began  
shifting his weight. "You have a point."  
  
"I believe her," Frohike told them.  
  
Langly looked understandably confused. "Why?"  
  
"I don't know." Frohike glanced into the next room and   
saw Scully clasp her hands together so tightly that her   
knuckles turned white. "I just have this feeling that   
she cares about the big guy. A lot."  
  
"A feeling? You're willing to bet your life on a   
feeling?" Langly looked shocked.  
  
Frohike didn't answer but walked into the other room.   
"I have a few questions," he told her.   
  
Scully squared her shoulders. "Shoot."   
  
"How did you know to come here?"  
  
"Mulder mentioned you." She said it without any   
elaboration then looked away.   
  
Frohike's eyes narrowed as he tried to decipher her   
body language. "Mulder sent you here?"   
  
"No."  
  
"You just made the decision on your own?"  
  
"Mulder isn't in any condition to send me anywhere.  
Besides, I make my own decisions."  
  
Fair enough. "You said Mulder was dying. Exactly how   
bad off is he?"  
  
The change in her expression was subtle. If he wasn't   
watching her closely, Frohike would have missed it   
entirely. It was almost as if a shadow crossed her   
face and darkened her eyes. "Mulder slipped into a   
coma just before I left the hospital." Scully took a   
deep breath. "At his present rate of deterioration   
I estimate he has between forty-eight and seventy-two   
hours to live."  
  
Scully's gaze locked with his and Frohike thought he   
read desperation in her eyes.  
  
He came to a decision. "How can we help?"  
  
Scully reached into her jacket.  
  
"Whoa!" Frohike raised his hands and backed away when  
she pulled out a gun.  
  
Scully smiled grimly and offered the firearm butt first.  
"For a start, take this."  
  
X X X  
  
Cayuga Medical Center  
Ithaca, New York  
2:18pm  
  
Dana Waterston sat fully dressed on the hospital bed.   
She had been discharged from the hospital, but what she   
was supposed to do now?   
  
She had spent the last couple of hours speaking with   
the local sheriff convincing him to drop charges against   
Arnold Blackwood. She had conceded to Dr. Doerstling's   
request to say that Blackwood hadn't known she was in   
the accelerator at the time of the experiment. That part  
of the statement was true enough. Dana Waterston hadn't  
been in the CESR, but Blackwood had known that a--if not   
'the'--Steven Doerstling was trapped inside. However,   
Blackwood had only been trying to set things right.   
He hadn't intended to harm anyone, and despite the   
upheaval his actions had caused in her life, Dana   
could see no purpose in condemning him.  
  
So now what? Dana looked around the empty hospital room.   
Where was she supposed to go? What was she supposed to   
do now that she was Special Agent Dana Scully?  
  
The phone rang. Dana reached for the phone on the   
bedside table only to realize that wasn't the phone that   
was ringing. She stood and searched through the   
belongings that a deputy had thoughtfully shipped  
from Agent Scully's motel room.  
  
Finding a cell phone Dana tentatively said, "Hello?"  
  
"Scully? Is that you?"  
  
What a loaded question.. "Um, yeah, it's me."  
  
"You're in the hospital again. Are you okay?"  
  
"Yes." Who was this?   
  
"Is anything seriously wrong?"  
  
"No."  
  
"So EVERYTHING--" he emphasized the word "--is okay?  
  
Dana blinked. He's asking about the baby, she   
realized. For some reason he wasn't saying it out   
loud. Dana didn't know why, but she was sure   
that was what he was asking.   
  
"Everything is okay."  
  
She heard the man sigh on the other end of the   
phone and wondered if this was the baby's father.  
  
"When will you be released?" he asked.  
  
"I am now. I...uh...I was discharged a few minutes   
ago. I was about to leave the hospital." Just as   
soon as she figured out where the hell she was   
supposed to go.  
  
His voice turned stern and authoritative. "Scully,   
I'm used to this shit when you and Mulder work on   
a X-File, but I sent you on a missing person case,   
an ordinary missing person case. How did you   
almost get yourself killed--No. Don't answer that.   
Just be standing in front of my desk with a full   
report ready at 8am tomorrow morning. Is that   
understood?"  
  
"Yes. . .sir," she belatedly added.  
  
"Fine. I'll have my secretary arrange a plane   
ticket to be waiting for you at the Tompkins   
County Airport."  
  
As the man hung up, Dana finally matched a face   
with the voice. Walter Skinner. When he had   
mentioned Agent Mulder's name she had made the   
association. It seemed impossible that only   
yesterday she had stood in the M.I.C.U.   
explaining Fox Mulder's dire prognosis to   
Mr. Skinner.   
  
Did Scully know Mulder? Was that why Mulder had   
seemed eerily familiar when he had been brought   
into the E.R.? Was that how he had known her name?   
  
Dana gave a bufuddled shake of her head. She was  
overdosing on unexplained phenomena. Dana was a   
logical person and everything around her kept   
defying logic. For her own peace of mind, she   
needed to find answers. But where was she   
supposed to start?  
  
Dana pressed her hand against her abdomen and,   
not for the first time, noticed that she didn't   
wear a ring. Given the fact that everyone   
referred to her as Scully, Dana felt she could   
safely assume that in this reality she was not   
married. Nice. She was sure her father would have   
been thrilled. Bill would raise hell about it   
and would be on the war path against the father  
...whoever the baby's father might be.  
  
Pushing aside the mental image of her brother's  
outrage, Dana wondered again how this baby's father   
would react to a Dana Scully who wasn't Dana Scully   
aat all. That thought alone was enough to bring on   
a wave of nausea. Dear God, how was Dana supposed   
to make it through this mess?   
  
Dana still pondered that question as she exited   
the hospital and ran into the student she had met in   
Steven Doerstling's room.   
  
"Agent Scully," Stilgoe called. "Dr. Doerstling asked   
me to give you a message."  
  
Dana gave him a questioning look.   
  
Stilgoe looked a little confused. "Doerstling said not   
to give up. He's looking for another way out of the   
rabbit hole." He frowned. "Does that make any   
sense to you?"  
  
"Yes," she answered. "It makes sense. Thank you for   
the message."  
  
"Okay then. Um...It's been nice meeting you."  
  
Dana watched the young man walk away then   
straightened her shoulders as a taxi stopped by   
the curb. As she down in the car, she tried to   
prepare herself for what she might find in   
Washington, D.C.  
  
X X X  
  
Washington, D.C.  
2:20pm  
  
Langly asked, "Who do you want to be?"  
  
Scully lifted her head. "Excuse me?"  
  
"On the credit card, what name do you want?   
  
"I don't think it really matters."  
  
He typed in L-A-R-A C-R-O-F-T. Frohike smacked   
him on the head and snapped, "Don't be a butt   
munch. Someone will notice that. Put something   
inconspicuous on it."  
  
"Mary Smith?"  
  
"Not THAT inconspicuous. Something normal."   
  
Byers announced to the room at large, "I've opened a   
bank account in the Caymans." He looked at Scully.   
"How much money do you want transferred into it?"  
  
Scully frowned. This felt suspiciously like stealing,  
but if she was going to protect Mulder she needed an   
untraceable cash flow. "Ten, maybe fifteen thousand."  
  
Byers frowned. "That won't last long." Byers said   
for her ears alone, "I think D.C. usually splits   
divorce settlements straight down the middle. You're   
entitled to half."  
  
Scully shook her head. Dana Waterston might be   
eligible for community property, but Dana Scully   
didn't have the right to a dime of the Waterstons'   
money. Saying a silent apology for burning her   
counterpart's bridges, Scully insisted, "Ten   
thousand is more than enough." She walked away.  
  
With her back turned, Byers transferred half of   
the Waterston's bank account into the one he   
had opened in the Caymans.  
  
Frohike approached Scully with a small flat strip   
of...something. Scully wasn't sure if it was   
plastic, silicon, or metal.   
  
"What is it?" she asked.  
  
"A miniaturized global positioning device. It will   
allow us to keep track of you. You should probably   
attach it someplace where it won't be detected and   
you won't remove like...uh..." He actually managed   
to blush.   
  
Scully almost smiled. "Would slipping it into the   
underwire of my bra help?"  
  
His skin tone deepened. "Yeah. That'd do it."  
  
"If you'll excuse me." With the Lone Gunmen's   
eyes on her back Scully disappeared into the   
bathroom.  
  
X X X  
  
Once Scully was out of the room Langly said,   
"You know there's one thing I don't understand   
about this."  
  
Byers' expression looked like disbelief. "Only   
one thing?"  
  
"Okay, a lot of things," Langley conceded. "But   
the big thing I don't get is how Mulder ended up   
with a doctor that looks like THAT. When I went   
in for appendicitis, I ended up with some ugly   
faced old man with icebergs for hands. How did   
Mulder get so lucky?"  
  
"Lucky? He's dying."   
  
Frohike's eyes stayed glued to the bathroom door.  
"And she's willing to risk her life to save him.  
Like Langly said, Mulder is a damn lucky dude."  
  
Langly frowned. "Does she really seem like someone   
who just happened to cross paths with Mulder?"   
  
Frohike shook his head. "Byers thinks she must be   
Mulder's chickadee."  
  
Langly's eyes widened. "Sonofabitch. Mulder's   
got a woman and never said anything?"  
  
"Is he supposed to keep us updated on his lovelife?"   
  
"Hey, I don't have one, I'd sort of like to live   
vicariously through his." Langley paused. "You   
think he was embarrassed to introduce her to us?"  
  
"Three handsome dudes like us? Not a chance."  
  
Byers looked distracted. "I'm still not sure about   
this idea of hers. It sounds dangerous."  
  
Frohike reminded him, "She didn't act like she'd   
take no for an answer."   
  
"She could get herself killed."  
  
Frohike nodded grimly. "There's nothing we can do   
about it. We can't stop her, and we can't take her   
place. We couldn't pull it off. We just have to hope   
Scully knows what she's doing."   
  
Scully exited the bathroom just her cell phone rang.   
"Scully," she answered then amended, "Um. . .I mean,   
Dana Waterston speaking."  
  
She nodded at whatever the person on the other end  
of the line said. "I'm on my way." She looked at   
the Lone Gunmen. "I've got to go."  
  
They walked her to the door.   
  
"Thank you for everything." Scully gazed at   
Frohike, and he felt himself standing just a little   
bit taller. "And please feed Mulder's fish."  
  
"You bet," Frohike answered to the spot where   
Scully had stood only a moment before.  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Mobius Part III

TITLE: Mobius   
AUTHOR: L.A. Ward  
EMAIL ADDRESS: LAWard@aol.com   
URL: www.hometown.aol.com/laward/eclectic.html  
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Sure, just let me know.  
SPOILER WARNING: Anything through Season 7  
including Requiem  
RATING: PG-13 (for language)  
CLASSIFICATION: X/MSR/A  
  
X-file casefile with Mytharc  
MSR  
Scully Angst/Mulder Angst   
  
SUMMARY: While investigating the disappearance of  
a physicist, Scully finds someone she didn't   
expect--Mulder.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Never mine. Wish they were,   
but they belong to Chris. Have no money so don't  
bother to sue.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I cannot say enough nice things for   
the wonderful people who undertook the task of beta   
reading. Thanks to all of them, but special thanks to  
Shari, Rosemary, and Fran.  
  
  
  
  
******************************************************  
". . .since love and fear can hardly exist together,  
if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be  
feared than loved."  
Niccolo Machiavelli  
"The Prince"   
******************************************************  
  
  
CHAPTER NINE  
  
Georgetown Memorial Hospital  
Washington, D.C.  
6:14pm  
  
Scully walked through the doors of the M.I.C.U. waiting   
room to find the Smoking Man standing by the window. He   
took a long drag off his cigarette and released the  
smoke slowly.  
  
Scully crossed her arms. "I told you there was no   
smoking in the hospital."  
  
He didn't acknowledge her by any gesture. "Where did   
you discover the name Spender?"  
  
Scully restrained a bitter smile. "I have my sources."   
  
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "And   
those sources would be?"  
  
"I really couldn't say."  
  
"Do you fear for their safety?"  
  
"No."  
  
The Smoking Man turned to face her. "Perhaps you   
should."  
  
Now she smiled. It felt good to be the one   
withholding secrets for a change. "I'm afraid not   
even you could reach my sources."  
  
"You're sure of that?"  
  
"Very sure."   
  
Something flickered in his eyes. She couldn't quite   
read what it was, but it sent a shiver down her spine.   
  
He raised the cigarette to his lips. "There are those   
who would say knowing the name Spender could prove   
hazardous to your health."   
  
"There are those who would say that it already has."  
Scully shrugged. "We all take risks. I'm sure you've   
noticed the warning on that pack of Morley's in your   
hand, but you're still smoking." She approached him  
slowly. "Also, let me warn you that I know more than   
a name, and I've made arrangements that if anything   
happens to me or to Mulder a few of those 'other   
things' will find their way to light."  
  
Silence was her answer as he rolled the cigarette  
between his fingers. Scully watched the length of   
ash grow longer and longer until it defied gravity.   
She waited for the ash to drop and scorch the floor.   
It didn't. Raising her gaze to meet his, Scully   
realized this was a waiting game. He wanted to her   
step down, to step back. He wanted a weakness to   
exploit.  
  
She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.   
  
With a flick of his index finger he dumped the ash   
into a potted plant. "What do you want?"   
  
"Mulder's life."  
  
He arched a brow. "You're the doctor. You have more   
control over his life than I do."  
  
"I don't think so. I think you know exactly what's   
wrong with him and what needs to be done to save him."   
  
The Smoking Man smiled. "And why would I want to save   
him?"   
  
"Because you need him. I'm not naïve. I don't   
expect you to do anything out of compassion. You  
have reasons for what you do. All I'm asking is   
that you release him to me when you're done."   
  
"And if there is nothing left to release?"  
  
Was that a threat, a warning, or a harsh dose of   
reality? How close had Mulder come to dying the   
last time? The experimental procedure had been   
risky. What if something had gone wrong? What if   
something went wrong now? Could she live with   
the consequences?  
  
Scully heard the quiet ticking of the clock on   
the wall. She had told the Lone Gunmen that   
Mulder had between forty-eight and seventy-two   
hours to live. What she hadn't told them was   
that was an optimistic diagnosis. Trusting the   
Smoking Man was the only chance Mulder had.  
  
She straightened her shoulders. "As I said, choices   
mean risks. I'll accept the odds if you'll agree   
to my proposition."   
  
"And if I don't?"  
  
"Then you won't have Mulder." Scully circled the old  
man. "If you want him you'll have to go through me.   
It's that simple."  
  
"Doctor, if I want to remove Mulder from this   
hospital I'm quite capable of accomplishing it   
without your help."  
  
Scully shook her head. "Skinner has two guards posted   
outside of Mulder's room, and I can have Mulder   
transferred to another wing of the hospital at a   
moment's notice." She looked at him challengingly. "I   
can have him transferred to another hospital and can  
keep doing that until it's too late."   
  
"He would die."  
  
"Yes, but not by your hand."  
  
The Smoking Man watched her contemplatively. "You   
won't go through with that threat."  
  
Scully arched a brow. "Won't I?"   
  
He took a last drag of his cigarette then crushed it in   
the potted plant. "Exactly what would accepting your   
offer entail? "  
  
"That I stay with Mulder 24/7."  
  
The Smoking Man watched her and Scully knew he was   
calculating the advantages and disadvantages of her  
offer. He didn't really need her. If he refused her   
request, the best she could offer were inconveniences   
and delays...and considering that delays would cost   
Mulder his life, she wouldn't even do that. All Scully   
could hope was that she had intrigued him. If she had   
played her cards right, the Smoking Man would allow   
her presence simply to satisfy his curiosity or   
perhaps--if Scully presented a challenge--to break her.   
She didn't care which as long he allowed her to   
stay with Mulder.   
  
Finally, he nodded and Scully released the breath she  
hadn't realized she was holding.  
  
"The nursing shift changes in a half hour," she  
explained. "I can arrange for Mulder to be removed   
from his room at that time. Would that be acceptable?"   
  
He gave a disquieting smile. "It is acceptable."  
  
"I'll be waiting."   
  
When Scully entered Mulder's room, she didn't need the   
EEG to tell her that his condition was worse. He   
looked like a corpse. Only the monitor beside his bed   
and the warmth of his skin gave any indication that   
he was alive at all.  
  
"You have to hold on," she demanded. "If you die   
on me, I'll kick your ass."   
  
She didn't see the wisp of smoke that drifted just   
beyond the doorway.  
  
X X X  
  
Dana Scully's Residence  
Georgetown  
Washington, D.C.  
6:14 PM  
  
Dana Waterston slipped the key into the lock and   
breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened. After   
arriving at Dulles she had given the taxi driver the   
address on her driver's license. Dana could only hope   
Scully hadn't moved...and that she wasn't leaving a   
car in the airport's long term parking.  
  
Walking into the apartment Dana flipped the light   
switch and bathed the room in soft golden glow.  
No lover waited for her return. There wasn't even   
a dog wanting to be fed. The metallic clatter   
of the keys landing on the console table mercifully   
shattered the silence.   
  
This apartment had nothing in common with the sleek,   
Modernist house she shared with Daniel. There was   
no pretension here. The upholstery was slightly faded   
and a few of the shelves in the bookcase were stacked   
two deep. Dana doubted any decorator--or even great   
thought--had been used to select the eclectic mix of   
furnishings. Still, the overall impression was one   
of warmth.   
  
She found the thermostat, and lowered the   
temperature until she heard the soft hum of the   
air conditioning kicking in. Dana hoped it would   
clean away the musty smell of disuse. Trailing her   
fingers through a thin film dust on the mantle,  
she decided this apartment might be a retreat for   
Scully, but it wasn't a home. At least not a   
home that had anything to do with the day to day   
living of Scully's life.  
  
Dana found herself drawn across the room by the   
relentlessly blinking light on the answering machine.  
Squelching the feeling that she was invading Scully's   
privacy, she hit play.  
  
The first message was Goodwill asking for a   
clothes donation. The second offered better  
long distance rates. The third and the fourth  
were hang ups, and the fifth was her mother   
calling 'just to check in.' Dana was kneeling in   
front of Scully's CD player when the answering   
machine beeped and went on to the sixth message.  
  
"You're pissed aren't you?"  
  
Dana jumped at the sound of the man's voice and   
accidentally hit the power switch on the CD player.   
She turned to look at the answering machine--which   
was a nonsensical thing to do. It wasn't like he   
was standing in the room.  
  
Only there was something about the man's voice...  
There was implied intimacy in the way he began   
talking in mid conversation. No introduction or   
social niceties, just his saying, "I know you're  
pissed. That composed act doesn't cut it with me.   
You wanted to go to Oregon. Yeah, you made supportive   
noises, and it's not like we don't go separate ways   
half the time...It's just for some reason this feels   
different."  
  
Dana could hear him take a breath before he said,   
"None of this changes the fact that you didn't want  
me to go alone, or that I deliberately misunderstood   
what you were saying when I dragged Skinner to go in   
your place. You wanted to go and didn't care about   
the risks."   
  
There was a long pause, and for a moment Dana thought  
the message had run out.  
  
"This wasn't a ditch," he stressed. "I want to make   
that clear. I wasn't ditching you, so don't pace   
around your apartment second guessing yourself. You   
didn't give into to some macho bullshit so I could   
play protector. You can take care of yourself. I   
know that. This wasn't about protection...at least   
not about protecting you."   
  
He sighed. "Scully, we both know a lot about losing   
things--too many things and too many people. I   
just...I couldn't risk losing you too."  
  
There was a long moment filled with unsaid words and  
unexpressed feelings. They squeezed her chest and   
made it difficult to breathe.  
  
He coughed. "So we're straight on this, right?   
I didn't ditch you to go searching for little green   
men--even though we both know they aren't green.   
Well, I know they aren't green. You never see them.   
Why is that? Oh well, look at it this way, since you   
never see them you aren't missing anything...Are you   
at least cracking a smile by now? No, probably not.   
I bet you're glaring at the answering machine thinking   
about how you'll kick my ass when I make it back."   
There was amusement in his voice. "I'm looking forward   
to that."  
  
Dana heard Scully's CD player change tracks as she  
waited for him to continue.  
  
"Scully..."   
  
That's all he said. Maybe that was all that needed   
to be said.   
  
She heard another man in the background yell,   
"Mulder, get your ass in gear!"  
  
"Duty calls. The Skinman's looking antsy, and  
I've got to listen to the boss--bet you didn't know   
I could do that. You still aren't smiling are you?   
Figures. I'll be sure to be prepared for a hell of an   
ass kicking when I make it home. Oh, and charge your   
cell phone, will you? I hate answering machines."  
  
A click and he was gone. The machine announced the   
day and time of the message. It was over two months   
old.   
  
Without warning, some preternatural instinct told Dana   
that Mulder had never made it home. That was why Scully  
had saved the message.  
  
As the melancholy sound of Sarah McLachlan's voice  
filled the stillness, Dana realized she was crying.   
She couldn't explain it. She didn't know Mulder, but   
she could remember the look in his eyes when he had   
called her name in the E.R. He was a stranger   
yet it felt like Dana knew him, like she had always   
known him. And now she grieved for him.  
  
Dana sank onto the sofa. She couldn't separate her   
emotions from Scully's. They felt the same. They  
felt real. They felt like they would tear her   
apart as she wrapped her arms around herself and  
silently rocked back and forth as tears streamed  
down her face.   
  
X X X  
  
The sky darkened to a blue-violet night and a  
crescent moon hung just above the horizon as Mulder  
watched light spread across a black glass sea. There   
were no waves now, and there was no tide. Everything   
was strangely still.  
  
He didn't stop to think about the oddity of it, just  
as he didn't bother to wonder if his experience in the  
hospital had been real...if SHE had been real. Why   
accept one reality and reject another? Dreams and   
reality both held elements of truth. He had no desire  
for an easy explanation. He only wanted to know why?   
  
He turned to see a figure approach him...  
  
X X X  
  
Georgetown Memorial Hospital  
Washington, D.C.  
7:20pm   
  
Scully approached the guard and smiled. If he had   
known her, he would have been worried by that smile.   
Scully didn't smile, at least not often and certainly   
not since Mulder had left for Oregon. No, the smile   
was a signal that something was up, and it WOULD have been   
a signal if the guard had known her a tenth as well as   
Mulder.   
  
"The CAT scan shouldn't take long," Scully assured the   
guard.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Sure that it won't take long?"  
  
"Sure that you don't need me along. The A.D. would   
have my butt in a sling if anything happened."  
  
Another thing to feel guilty about. Scully was all   
too familiar with Skinner lectures, and she was   
sorry to sentence an unsuspecting agent to one.   
However, she didn't feel guilty enough to change her   
plans.  
  
She looked over at the orderly who wasn't an orderly   
at all. He had been sent by the Smoking Man to help   
remove Mulder from his room. He told the guard,  
"I can watch out for her from here."  
  
The guard glanced at Scully, and she nodded. She   
even managed another smile.   
  
The guard relented. "I could use a coffee break."   
  
Scully followed the 'orderly' down the corridor.  
Once out of sight of the guard, instead of turning   
toward the main bank of elevators they stopped  
in front of the service ones. Scully shifted from  
foot to foot as she waited for the doors to open  
and almost groaned when she saw Daniel approaching.  
  
"Another test?" Daniel asked and, to give him credit,  
Scully thought he was trying to keep some of the  
resentment out of his voice.  
  
"Yes, another test."  
  
Daniel scratched his chin. "Realistically, what   
are his odds?"  
  
"Not good." Again Scully punched the elevator call   
button.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
She glanced at Daniel in surprise.  
  
He explained, "I've never seen you like this. You've  
lost objectivity. For a doctor, that's not a good   
thing, but on a personal level. . ." Daniel shrugged.  
"He's gotten to you in a way I never did."  
  
"I suppose I should say thank you."  
  
Daniel picked up Mulder's medical chart and glanced   
through it one more time. He handed it back to Scully.   
"I'm sorry," he repeated and walked away.  
  
Scully heard the ding of the elevator arriving and   
joined the orderly in pushing Mulder into it before   
the doors closed. Three seconds passed before she   
hit 'Full Stop.' Because the elevator was used for   
linen and service carts that required extended stays   
on each floor there was a delay on the alarm. They   
had two minutes.  
  
The orderly handed Scully a black body bag he had kept   
concealed beneath his surgical greens. He turned Mulder   
on his side as Scully lay the bag on the stretcher.   
Something in the pit of her stomach clenched as she   
drew the zipper over Mulder's face. If anything went   
wrong this grisly sight could become real.  
  
There was ten seconds left before the alarm would   
ring when Scully pulled the stop button so that   
the elevator would continue to the ground floor. They   
exited into the corridor that lead to the morgue. Only  
they walked passed the morgue to push through a set of   
heavy metal doors.   
  
Stepping into a cavernous room with unfinished concrete   
floors and exposed cinderblock walls, Scully fought   
the urge to cover her ears to block out a fraction of   
the roar of med gas pumps and emergency generators.   
The noise was deafening.  
  
"Where are we going?" the orderly yelled, trying to   
be heard over the pneumatic pounding.  
  
Scully pointed in the direction of a sign marked   
"Switchgear."   
  
The man nodded and followed her lead. When the   
switchgear door slammed behind them, she said,   
"Check to see if they're here."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Through there. It leads to the loading dock."   
  
Scully had scouted this path before leaving the   
hospital this afternoon. She had known that they   
needed a route out of the hospital that would   
avoid as many security cameras as possible. Of   
course there was a security camera on the dock   
itself, but she had taken care of that as well.  
  
When the man left, Scully moved to Mulder's side and  
lowered the zipper. Seeing his pale, still face she   
had to confess, "I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm sorry  
about a lot of things."  
  
The orderly returned. "They're here."   
  
Scully pushed the gurney passed bright aqua carts   
marked "Sani-Trux" and red fiberglass ones labeled   
"biohazard" to exit onto the dock. A dark UPS van   
waited, and the Smoking Man gave a disturbing smile   
as he opened the van's rear doors.  
  
The interior was nothing like a glorified mail   
truck. Despite it's outward appearance, the van   
was the most sophisticated ambulance Scully had   
ever seen. Clearly even now the Syndicate was   
well funded.  
  
When the doors closed behind her, the Smoking Man's   
smile grew more pronounced. Scully hated that smile.   
It made her think she had been tricked--and she knew   
that in some respects she had been. There was no way   
Scully could anticipate this man's every move. The   
trick would be to lose only a limited number of   
battles so that she could win the war.   
  
"Doctor, you appear nervous," the Smoking Man   
drawled.  
  
"I'm cautious, not nervous."  
  
"And the distinction would be?"  
  
"You're nervous when you don't know what someone   
is capable of. You're cautious when you know   
someone is capable of killing you without batting   
an eyelash."  
  
He arched a brow. "You think I would kill you?"  
  
"You COULD kill me. I'm hoping you decide against it."  
  
He came close to her. Too close. "You intrigue me."   
  
That was the plan.   
  
Scully lost her balance as the van started moving.   
The Smoking Man reached to steady her but she   
steadied herself and stepped out of his reach.   
  
He lit a cigarette. "No questions about where we   
are going?"  
  
"Questions would be pointless."  
  
"Yes, they would. But aren't you curious?"  
  
Scully leveled a cool glance in his direction. "I'm   
cursed with a serious lack of curiosity."  
  
"And here Mulder has more than his fair share."  
  
Scully ignored him.  
  
"He can't feel you, doctor."  
  
A frown creased Scully's brow. "Excuse me?"  
  
He looked down and for the first time Scully noticed   
that she had unconsciously unzipped the body bag and   
now held Mulder's hand. She thought about letting   
go to cover whatever instinct had led her to such   
revealing action. Instead she looked defiantly at   
the Smoking Man.   
  
The lights in the van flickered out, and Scully could   
only see a small pinpoint of red as the old man inhaled  
the cigarette. She came close to demanding he extinguish   
it, then decided it would help her keep track of him in   
the darkness. Besides, if she made a demand it would   
become a power struggle. It was best to avoid that if   
she possibly could.   
  
Scully sat down and struggled to forget about another   
trip she had taken with this man. Scully had wanted   
something from him then as well...and she had failed   
miserably. Against her will a memory rose of the   
Smoking Man asking, "How do you explain your   
fearless devotion to a man obsessed, and, yet, a   
life alone?"  
  
She hadn't answered so he had observed, "You'd die for   
Mulder but you won't allow yourself to love him."  
  
Scully could have the wording wrong. It had been   
months ago, and she had tried very hard to forget...but   
she couldn't. The Smoking Man had seen something she   
hadn't wanted him to see--something SHE didn't want   
to see. It had shaken her in a way that Scully had   
been unwilling to acknowledge.  
  
She watched the tiny spark of red in the darkness.  
Little wonder Mulder hated this man who found someone's  
secrets and either withheld them or laid them bare for  
his own amusement or advantage. He was ruthless.   
He was dangerous.   
  
Scully squeezed Mulder's fingers and rhythmically   
moved her thumb across the back of his hand. She   
could feel the Smoking Man watching her and  
could see him doing so in the brief moments of   
light near street lamps.   
  
Let him see, she thought. Let him know that I won't   
allow Mulder to be sacrificed for his cause.  
  
The tiny spot of red disappeared as the Smoking Man   
extinguished another cigarette and when they passed   
the next streetlight Scully saw him cross his arms   
and close his eyes.  
  
She watched him. She wouldn't be lulled into   
complacency, not like the time she had allowed herself   
to be drugged and removed her from the car. The   
Smoking Man had undressed her. Scully shivered at the   
memory, and looked down at Mulder's face. She had   
made a mistake in trusting the old man once. Was   
she making the same mistake again?  
  
  
  
  
  
****************************************************  
Everything about you demonstrates a careless  
desolation. . .  
William Shakespeare  
"As You Like It"  
****************************************************  
  
CHAPTER TEN  
  
Dana sat on a couch in an unfamiliar apartment with a   
handsome if only vaguely familiar man sitting next to   
her. Mulder. He looked different from the pale,   
agonized man she had seen in the E.R. He was smiling   
and looked relaxed. There was a sparkle in his eyes as   
if he had found something she had said amusing. That   
was unusual. Actually, that was strange. As a general   
rule Dana wasn't known for her sense of humor.  
  
"I go away for two days and your whole life changes,"   
he complained.  
  
"I didn't say my whole life changed--"  
  
"Speaking to God in a Buddhist temple and God speaking   
back?"  
  
"I didn't say that God spoke back. I said I had some   
kind of vision."  
  
"For you that's like saying you're having David   
Crosby's baby." Mulder smiled and there was a sudden   
ache inside her. Dana lost track of the conversation,   
as tended to happen in dreams, but everything fell   
sharply into focus when he asked, "How many different   
lives would we be leading if we made different choices?"  
  
The ear splitting buzz of an alarm clock dragged Dana   
from sleep. Sitting up in bed she looked blearily   
around the room. It came to her that she should feel   
disoriented by her surroundings. Only she wasn't. This   
bedroom was as familiar to her as the dream she had   
been having, a dream where she had been speaking to a   
man who should have been a stranger to her but wasn't.   
  
Dana pulled herself from the bed knowing that she didn't   
have the time to wonder about yet another strange event   
in her trip down the rabbit hole. Somehow she knew that   
her counterpart would frown on her being late for her   
appointment with Walter Skinner.   
  
Throwing open the doors to the closet, Dana stood   
staring at Scully's wardrobe for a long moment. Did   
Scully own anything that wasn't black? Pushing aside   
several black skirts, black pants, and black jackets,   
Dana found a couple of beige outfits shoved into the   
back corner. Those had to be Scully's "thin clothes"   
or things she simply never wore. Wasn't that what the   
far corner of any woman's closet implied?  
  
Selecting a tailored black skirt and blazer she   
could pair with soft green silk blouse, Dana muttered  
"Scully, you're a wild woman," before heading toward  
the bathroom to take a shower. An hour and a half later   
Dana entered the J. Edgar Hoover building through the   
front door.  
  
She had used the taxi trick again. It was the easiest   
way of dealing with the question of where would she   
park? Did she have an assigned parking space? Was   
there a designated FBI Agent parking lot? What did  
her car look like and where was it parked? There was  
an endless list of questions Dana had about Scully's   
life, and if taking a taxi reduced that list by just   
one, it was worth the cost of the ride.   
  
Of course when the taxi pulled away the curb, Dana had   
another question. Did she enter by the front door or   
was there another entrance for agents? Not knowing the   
answer, Dana chose the front door. Everyone had to go   
through the front door at some point, didn't they?   
  
When she passed through the metal detector it beeped.   
The security guard glanced up. "Agent Scully, should   
I bother?"  
  
Dana frowned and tried to not look confused.   
  
He gave a "here we go again" sigh. "It feels like such   
a waste of time to scan you when we always know what   
it will say." He ran a hand held detector over her.  
It beeped when it reached the nape of her neck. The   
guard didn't even blink. "Go on in."  
  
Dana wasn't sure why he waved her through the security  
check. How had she set off the metal detector?  
Dana found herself rubbing her neck as she walked   
toward the main bank of elevators. She wasn't even   
wearing her necklace.   
  
When the elevator doors closed behind her a male agent   
asked, "Catch any mutants this week?"  
  
Mutants? Was that some FBI slang for a criminal?  
  
"Not this week," Dana answered.  
  
"No half man half fluke? What about killer tobacco   
beetles? E.T.?"  
  
A woman with hair slightly less red than Dana's   
snapped, "You're an asshole, Agent." The man backed  
off and stepped out of the elevator at the next floor.  
After the doors closed, the woman smiled. "I really   
enjoyed doing that."   
  
Dana stared at the stranger.  
  
The woman explained, "It's been a hell of a morning.   
Mr. Skinner has sent me for coffee three times. He   
never sends me for coffee. I finally told him that he   
may be the A.D. and I'm only his secretary, but I'm not   
at his servant." She paused then shook her head.   
"I'm glad I'm not you. Mr. Skinner's in a hell of a   
mood--which explains my mood. He's been pacing the   
for a half hour."  
  
Dana swallowed convulsively. "Not a good sign, I  
take it."  
  
The secretary shrugged. "Fairly typical where you   
and your partner are concerned."  
  
The elevator bell rang just as the doors slid open,   
and Dana followed the woman down the hall. When   
they entered the office the secretary buzzed her   
boss. "Agent Scully is here."  
  
Dana heard a gruff voice say, "Send her in."  
  
When Dana had met Walter Skinner in the M.I.C.U.,   
he hadn't struck her as being an authority figure.   
He had deferred too easily to the older man carrying   
the cigarettes...but that seemed liked a lifetime   
ago.  
  
Looking at this Skinner, Dana still saw a tall,   
well muscled, pleasant looking man, but there was   
something more. She searched for a way to describe   
it. Steely? Determined? Whatever the elusive   
difference between the two might be, this version   
of Walter Skinner appeared somewhat intimidating   
as he sat behind a large mahogany desk flanked by   
the American flag.   
  
"Sit," he commanded.  
  
Dana almost preferred to stand. You were   
supposed to stand when facing a firing squad,   
weren't you?   
  
"Scully," he said more softly. "Sit."  
  
He laid a manila folder on his desk and leaned   
back in his leather clad chair. "This report on   
Doerstling's disappearance doesn't say much."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
He waved his hand negligently. "I'm used to vague  
reports--at least when they involve X-Files--but   
this wasn't supposed to be a X-File."  
  
Dana refrained from asking what constituted a   
X-File. Clearly Scully would know.  
  
Skinner shook his head. "I thought I was doing   
you a favor forcing you out of the office. I can   
see now it was a mistake."  
  
"Why was it a mistake?"  
  
"Because you came damn close to getting yourself   
killed! Damnit, Scully, I'm used to doctors   
calling to say you or Mulder have been brought   
into the emergency room. It's depressingly   
familiar, but this is the first time I've ever   
wondered..."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"There has always been a fearless quality to yours   
and Mulder's work. Fearless," he stressed, "not   
careless."  
  
"Was I careless?"  
  
He leaned forward. "I don't know, Scully, were you?"   
He stood and walked to the window. "I knew when I went   
to Oregon with Mulder that I was there to watch his   
back. I was supposed to make sure he returned to   
Washington in one piece." Skinner looked at her  
and now his expression was anything but intimidating.  
He looked regretful. "I failed."  
  
Skinner never broke eye contact. "I won't fail Mulder   
the same way. If he ever does come back there's no   
way in hell I'm going to tell him that you got   
yourself killed. So please, Scully, tell me you   
weren't being reckless."  
  
Was that a request? Dana noticed the concern with  
which he watched her. What was he really asking,   
and why did he look so worried? Then Dana remembered   
the despair she had felt last night as she rocked   
herself on Scully's couch. She stopped cold. Surely   
he didn't believe. . .No. Absolutely not. Whatever   
emotional pain Scully might feel she would never   
knowingly risk the life of her unborn child. It   
simply would not happen.  
  
Again a strange sensation washed over Dana. How did   
she know with such certainty what Scully would and   
would not do? She wasn't Scully. She was Dr. Dana   
Waterston.  
  
Wasn't she?   
  
A sense of panic hovered just beyond the edge of her   
consciousness. For the sake of her sanity, she had to   
be Dana Waterston...but being Dana Waterston made no   
sense. Logic dictated that she was a FBI Agent named   
Dana Scully. Everyone knew her as Dana Scully. She   
had an apartment, a job, a life--a life that in no   
way resembled the life of a neurobiologist. What's   
more inside her grew a life that was extraordinarily   
precious to Dana Scully. It was insane to think she   
was anyone BUT Dana Scully.  
  
Skinner watched Dana intently. "Are you all right?"  
  
"I'm fine," she insisted. "I'm just fine." For a   
woman losing her mind.   
  
X X X   
  
Syndicate Research Facility  
Location Unknown, 8:10am   
  
Scully startled awake as the van came to a halt.   
She glanced at her watch and realized that she had   
dozed for no more than a few minutes but was still   
unnerved to find the Smoking Man staring at her. She   
shifted uncomfortably and glanced down to see that   
she still held Mulder's hand. Even in sleep, she   
couldn't let go.  
  
"We've arrived," the man announced as the orderly   
swung open the doors. Men in lab coats grabbed   
Mulder's gurney and pulled him from the van forcing   
her to let go of his hand. As his fingers slipped   
through hers something inside Scully ached.  
  
Pulling herself together, Scully stepped out of the   
van while attempting to assess her surroundings.   
There was very little to see. To the right and left   
of this rather non-descript red brick building was   
nothing but trees.  
  
"Rather bucolic, isn't it?" The Smoking Man stood   
silhouetted against the dark outline of a forest too   
dense to be penetrated by the hazy morning light.   
It disturbed Scully that he had caught her scanning   
their surroundings for a possible means of escape, but   
that was the least of her worries. Scully would cross   
that bridge when she came to it. What disturbed her   
more was the fact that this was not the facility where   
she had found Mulder last fall. Scully had no idea   
where they were.  
  
The Smoking Man indicated the door to a small,   
nondescript red brick building that stood at the   
foot of what looked like a forestry observation   
tower. Scully followed him inside only to pass   
through a metal detector just inside the doorway.   
She was mildly surprised that the detector didn't   
go off. She had grown used to that happening   
whenever she passed through such devices. It was   
unsettling that it didn't happen now. Then Scully   
wondered about the flexible metal strip that Frohike   
had given her. What had it been made of that it   
didn't trigger the metal detector?  
  
Pushing her questions to the side, Scully descended   
the long ramp that opened to an almost endless   
corridor. What had looked small and inconspicuous   
on the surface was in fact a cavernous subterranean   
facility. She shouldn't have been surprised.  
  
They entered a scrub room with windows that looked   
into the O.R. as a nurse indicated a cabinet filled   
with surgical greens. Without thought, Scully   
performed the familiar ritual of donning the greens   
and sterilizing her hands. Her eyes never left   
Mulder as he was transferred from the gurney to   
the surgical table. The table looked like no   
medical table Scully had ever seen. To be honest, it   
looked like a deconstructivist's version of a cross.   
  
When she pushed through the doors of the O.R., Scully   
found the Smoking Man was only a step behind her. She   
stayed out of the way of the doctors that prepared   
for a surgery that would either save Mulder or kill   
him. She was here to observe, at least that was what   
the Smoking Man told the doctors.   
  
A nurse shaved a small area of Mulder's scalp then   
cleaned it with Betadine as the Smoking Man circled the   
table. The look on the man's face frightened Scully   
more than the impassive glance he sent in her direction.  
As he watched Mulder there this look of...of...the only   
way she could describe it was affection-a sick,   
frightening form of affection.  
  
"A father has high hopes for his son," he murmured.   
"But he never dreams his boy's going to change the   
world. I'm so proud of this man--the depth of his   
capacity for suffering."  
  
Horror washed over Scully. Surely not. This couldn't   
be true. This man was not Mulder's father. It was   
only his egomaniacal pathology that made him claim   
what he could not destroy.   
  
"I'm sure Bill Mulder was quite proud of him as   
well," Scully responded. "And not for his capacity   
to suffer."  
  
The Smoking Man gazed at her speculatively. "And why  
are you proud of him, doctor?"  
  
Scully lifted her chin. "For his capacity to do what  
is right."  
  
"What has made you so sure of what is right?"  
  
Scully's brow knitted as she thought of how she   
should respond. As the nurse picked up a bone   
drill and carried it toward the surgical table,   
Scully found herself saying, "Needless suffering   
is never right."  
  
"Needless?" The old man had the audacity to look   
insulted. "I am not a cruel man, Dr. Waterston."  
  
Her look was doubtful if not outright disbelieving.  
  
He defended himself. "What could be more   
admirable than saving mankind from extinction?"  
  
"Not being the one to choose who will live and who   
will die."  
  
His eyelids drifted over his rheumy eyes. "My dear,   
you oversimplify the problem. It takes a great   
man to shoulder the burden of making difficult   
choices."  
  
A shiver moved through Scully as she remembered   
her own desperate claims of objectivity when it was   
time to make difficult choices. But then   
objectivity was not the same as ruthlessness.  
  
She looked at Mulder's pale face as the nurse set the   
surgical halo over his head and tightened the titanium   
screws. Scully murmured, "It takes a heartless man   
to value someone for their capacity to suffer."   
  
"He would be dead a hundred times over if not for me."  
  
Scully crossed the floor to stand directly in front   
of the Smoking Man. "If this was your ultimate goal,   
does it matter how many times you spared him?   
Sometimes it's not the action but the intent that   
is the measure of a man."  
  
"A question for the philosophers." He rolled up his   
sleeve and sat at the other end of the cross-like table.   
"I see where Mulder would find you appealing.   
Intelligence, sternly defined morals, and an unshakable   
sense of purpose are irresistible to a man obsessed with   
becoming a martyr."  
  
"Mulder isn't a martyr."  
  
"Yet." With that ominous statement the old man offered   
his arm to a nurse who inserted an I.V. He didn't   
even flinch when the needle pierced his skin.  
  
"Why Mulder?" Scully asked.  
  
He turned his head to look at her. "I've been asked   
that many times. And now I have vindication. The   
ultimate vindication."  
  
The project's surgeon looked at him uncertainly. "There   
is no way you could have predicted this," the surgeon  
protested. "This is a something none of us ever   
expected, let alone hoped for. After all these years   
of trying to develop a compatible hybrid, to have one  
ready made--"  
  
The Smoking Man's smiled. "All these years, all the   
questioning why? Why keep Mulder alive when it was so   
simple to remove the threat he posed--" The old man  
lay back on the table. "The fact remains, Mulder has   
become our savior. He's immune to the coming viral   
apocalypse. He's the hero here."  
  
The surgeon warned, "He may not survive the procedure."  
  
"Then he suffers a hero's fate."  
  
Such a statement revealed the Smoking Man's claims of  
compassion as lies. He would watch Mulder suffer   
without a moment of pity or compassion. Could there be   
any act more cruel? But then what else could be   
expected of a man willing to sacrifice most  
of the world's population for his own sick sense   
of glory?   
  
An anesthesiologist took a seat at the side of the   
table as the nurse handed the surgeon the bone drill.  
He looked at the Smoking Man. "We are ready to   
proceed."  
  
The Smoking Man turned to Scully. "Be proud of him.   
Think of what he is giving the world."  
  
"He wasn't given a choice."  
  
"You think he wouldn't have chosen this?"  
  
Would Mulder willingly die to change the world?   
Scully closed her eyes as the answer became painfully   
clear. Yes. Mulder would sacrifice himself for   
others. Mulder had compassion. He had empathy. He   
had honor...Scully just wasn't willing to lose him.  
  
The Smoking Man fixed his gaze on the ceiling.   
"Besides, Mulder's task is nearly complete. I'll   
carry the burden from here."  
  
X X X  
  
J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Washington, D.C.  
9:16am  
  
The elevator doors opened on the basement level, and   
Dana stepped out. She had spent a half hour searching   
the building directory for her office and had never   
found one listed. She did find name Fox Mulder, however.   
Dana walked in the direction of his office. She stopped   
when she saw a maintenance man.  
  
"Agent Scully," he drawled, "you're just in time." He   
stepped back to show her a plaque bearing her name...   
or rather bearing Agent Scully's name. Dana looked   
at the man in confusion.  
  
"Since you were outta town, I figured you wouldn't be   
disturbed while I was changin' the name plate." He   
seemed a little nervous under her stare.  
  
"What's that?" Dana asked indicating an object the his   
hand.  
  
"Um...It's Agent Mulder's name plate."  
  
"May I see it?"  
  
"Sure. You can have it if you'd like."  
  
Dana traced the white lettering on the black background.   
"Thank you."  
  
"Sure thing...uh...I'll just be goin.'"  
  
When she opened the door, the room was dark except   
for the light spilling through the skylight along the   
back wall. It was a small kindness from the designer   
because the office had no windows. It was a cluttered   
hellhole Dana decided after she turned on the light.  
  
There were stacks of files littering the desk and   
posters on the wall. Posters were common in dorm rooms,   
but in an FBI agent's office they were...unexpected.   
Dana inspected the small poster of Neil Armstrong's   
first walk on the moon half expecting to read "one   
small step for a man, a giant leap for mankind." It   
wasn't there, but somehow she felt the sentiment was   
implied. On the other wall, dominating the room, was   
a picture of a flying saucer with "I WANT TO BELIEVE"   
emblazoned across it.   
  
Dana looked at the files littering the desk and   
quickly understood what the term "X-File" meant. Every   
case number began with an X.  
  
It all seemed familiar. It felt familiar, but it   
shouldn't BE familiar.   
  
Dana reached for the phone. She needed someone to tell   
her she wasn't crazy. "Yes," she said breathlessly when   
someone answered the phone. "Can I speak to Dr.   
Doerstling? Yes, I can hold." Dana drummed her nails   
against the desk as she impatiently waited. "Doctor,   
this is Dana Waterston."  
  
"Alice," he said with evident pleasure.  
  
"Doctor, I need your help."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Tell me I'm not crazy."  
  
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.   
"Why do you need me to say it?"  
  
"Because I don't know. Am I crazy? Have I had some  
sort of mental breakdown and didn't recognize it?"   
She raked her hand through her hair. "Do you know  
who I am?"  
  
"Dana Waterston."  
  
"Are you sure? Because I'm not."   
  
Doerstling said patiently, "I'm sure that after   
everything that has happened, you feel disoriented."  
  
"Saying it that way sounds like we're talking about   
a car accident. We're talking about an alternate   
universe. I'd have to be insane to believe I'd   
dropped into one."  
  
"So you've decided you no longer believe what's   
happened to you?"  
  
"How can I believe it? If I am Dana Waterston, how   
can I be carrying a child I didn't conceive? How can   
I have memories that aren't mine? Dreams that aren't   
mine? This is Dana Scully's life. This is Dana   
Scully's body, so I must BE Dana Scully. It's the only   
logical explanation. I must be experiencing some   
form of schizophrenia."  
  
"You aren't schizophrenic," Doerstling said sternly.  
  
"Then explain how it's possible for me to be two   
people at the same time because I AM Dana Scully.  
How else could I know what she knows?"  
  
"Remember the mobius strip--"  
  
"The mobius strip is a metaphor. It isn't an   
explanation."  
  
He didn't say anything. She could hear him breathing  
on the other end of the line.  
  
Dana rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I should go to a   
psychiatrist. The FBI has to have a therapist. Maybe   
A.D. Skinner is right to be concerned about my mental   
health. Maybe grief has driven me off the deep end."  
  
Doerstling said urgently, "Ms. Waterston, don't do   
anything rash."  
  
"I would hardly say seeing a psychiatrist is rash."  
  
"A psychiatrist won't help. This problem can be   
answered with science. You don't need touchy-feely   
'let's discuss your feelings' mumbo jumbo. Give me   
time to look over the CLEO data. Maybe I will find   
something."  
  
She stared at the words, "I WANT TO BELIEVE."   
  
"A few hours," she conceded.   
  
After giving him the number listed on the phone, Dana   
sat staring at the poster. She needed to believe   
Doerstling could find an answer. She clung to the   
hope that science could explain everything that had   
happened, but Dana placed her faith where it had   
always been. She prayed.  
  
X X X   
  
Mulder stood on the beach in near total darkness. There  
was just enough light to see the shadow of someone   
standing several yards away. At least Mulder thought   
someone was standing there. It could be an illusion.   
Like the times as a child when he had lain in his bed   
believing the monsters had returned to take him just  
as they had taken sister. Countless nights his eyes had   
strained against the darkness as Mulder denied himself   
the right to yell for help or comfort because he hadn't   
screamed for Samantha. Only back then the night   
terrors had been his imagination. The creatures that   
took Samantha had never returned for him, and when   
Mulder had gathered the courage to turn on the light   
he had only ever discovered empty rooms.   
  
Was the beach empty now? Was the shadow   
nothing more than his overactive imagination?  
  
Mulder took a step forward, and if he wasn't fooling   
himself the shadow took a step toward him. He didn't   
speak. Maybe he should have. Maybe he should call   
out and demand that the shadow identify itself...but   
he didn't. Mulder felt that if he spoke, he would   
shatter the illusion, and if he did that he would   
lose his only chance to know the truth.  
  
Mulder took a step and then another. The shadow did   
the same. It was an agonizingly slow process made  
more disturbing by the eerie silence on the beach.   
There wasn't even the sound of water lapping against   
the shore. There was only silence--potent, ominous   
silence.  
  
He stopped moving. As if on cure the clouds that   
obscured the crescent moon moved so that blue-white   
light spilled onto the ocean. The shadow emerged   
from darkness, and Mulder saw...himself.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
*******************************************************  
I have seen no more evident monstrosity and miracle  
in the world than myself. . .  
Michel Eyquem de Montaigne  
  
When you look for the miracle you've got to scatter  
your blood to the eight points of the wind. . .  
Giorgos Sefiriades  
*****************************************************   
  
  
CHAPTER ELEVEN   
  
Mulder stood face to face with himself. He was only   
supposed to do that in his shaving mirror, but here   
he stood in this...this...whatever the hell this was.   
He wasn't really sure what to call it, what it was   
supposed to be. Fantasy? Reality? Alternate reality?   
Mulder didn't know. Maybe it was all three at once.   
What he did know was that it was damn eerie facing   
himself across a stretch of white sand.   
  
He was actually relieved by the fact that he--the   
other him--looked as shocked as he--this him--felt.   
The other thing Mulder noticed was that his counterpart   
looked like shit. To be precise, the other him looked   
like he'd been drop kicked off the edge of a cliff and   
scraped from a canyon floor to stand on this beach.   
  
Mulder took a step forward only realize something held  
him back. Actually something was tugging his sleeve.   
He looked down into the dark hazel eyes of the boy he   
had first met on the beach.  
  
"Hurry," the boy urged.  
  
Wasn't that what he had been doing before the  
boy stopped him? Mulder looked back at the shadow  
version of himself only to find him gone.  
  
"Hurry," the child urged again. "She needs you."  
  
That caught Mulder's attention.   
  
The boy held Mulder's hand in a vice-like grip as he  
pulled him down the beach. "She needs you before it's   
too late."  
  
X X X  
  
  
Syndicate Research Facility  
Location Unknown, 9:20am  
  
Scully held Mulder's hand tightly as she watched the   
surgeon drill a hole into Mulder's skull. He couldn't   
feel it--the drill or her hand--but Scully felt it.   
She flinched. Scully had seen similar procedures   
performed several times before. She had performed   
nearly identical procedures herself. But this was   
different. This was Mulder.   
  
Other than a local sedative there was no anesthesia.   
That was frequently the case in neurosurgery. There   
was no need. There were no nerves in the brain to   
transmit the sensation of pain. Scully consciously   
knew these things, but the knowledge did her no good.   
This went beyond the realm of science and facts.   
This wasn't being done to a stranger. This was   
someone whose mind she treasured. Seeing him like   
this was almost unbearable.   
  
The surgeon glanced at the Smoking Man before   
inserting the shunt into Mulder's brain. "He   
may not survive this procedure," he warned.  
  
The Smoking Man didn't appear perturbed. "Don't   
think of the man. Think of the service he is   
performing for mankind."  
  
The surgeon inserted a syringe-like instrument into   
Mulder's cerebrum. She didn't ask the doctor to   
explain what he was doing. She didn't need an   
explanation--which was an oddity in itself. Scully   
was aware of knowledge within her that was not her   
own. Yes, she had a degree in medicine, but she   
had never specialized in neurobiology. At this   
moment her knowledge exceeded her education. A   
fact that under any other circumstance Scully would   
find strange and disturbing. In fact even with her   
current distraction she found it strange, disturbing   
and frightening. However she couldn't allow it   
to distract her. There was too much at stake. It   
would simply have to be added to her list of things   
to face at a later date. Inside Scully was a   
Pandora's box of questions about things she had seen   
or heard, and sometimes Scully feared that if she   
dared to open that box, she would destroy herself...  
or at least destroy the skepticism she clung to so   
tightly.  
  
The surgeon performed the curiously bloodless   
procedure with admirable delicacy, and when he   
removed the needle from Mulder's temporal lobe   
Scully caught her breath. There was no spinal fluid,   
only a thick, black, and viscous liquid that began   
to drain from the shunt. Scully itched for a   
microscope so that she could examine the it. Would   
she find any similarities to the virus?   
  
As if sensing her insatiable curiosity, the Smoking   
Man smiled. "You are the witness to something that   
can save the world."  
  
Scully refused to give him the satisfaction of a  
response.  
  
"We're forcing the next step in evolution to save   
mankind," the old man explained and the expression  
on his face was almost hopeful. It was as if he  
wished for her blessing. "We're doing God's work."  
  
"Do you often liken yourself to God?" she asked dryly.  
  
CSM glared. "Without this immunity, everyone would   
die."  
  
Click.  
  
The sound was nothing more than the nurse counting   
surgical instruments as she laid them on a stainless  
steel tray. For Scully it was a familiar, methodical   
procedure yet this time she found herself hypnotized   
by the nurse's motions. As each instrument clicked   
against the tray, time seemed to slow. Thoughts came   
to her, and pieces fell into place.  
  
Scully remembered sitting in a car with the Smoking   
Man as he said, "I must tell you something. Something   
that's so unbelievable, so incredible that to know it   
is to look at the entire world anew."  
  
"What?" she had asked.  
  
"It's not just the cure for cancer. It's the holiest   
of grails. It's the cure for all human disease."  
  
Click.  
  
The surgeon approached the Smoking Man with drill in   
his hand, and CSM's face took a strangely calm, almost   
exultant, expression.   
  
Scully's hands tightened into tense fists as the   
anesthesiologist moved to take a seat beside his new   
patient.  
  
"This knowledge is God's blessing," the Smoking Man   
reiterated emphatically.   
  
Click.  
  
In her memory Scully stood in a mahogany paneled   
office that had been designed to impress. In fact,   
it had been designed to specifically impress her.   
The Smoking Man had calmly announced he was dying.   
"Cerebral inflammation," he explained. "A consequence   
of brain surgery I had in the fall."  
  
Click.  
  
"I'll carry on for Mulder from here."  
  
Click.  
  
Months ago Scully had sat in an elegant restaurant as   
the Smoking Man's eyes moved over her in a disturbingly   
covetous manner. "Can you imagine what it's like to   
have the power to extinguish a life?" he had asked.   
"Or to save it and let it flourish? And now to give   
you that power, so you can do the same."  
  
Click.  
  
What had he done to her? Dear God, what had the Smoking   
Man done?   
  
Scully touched her abdomen and felt for the child that   
was no longer there. Because of men like the Smoking   
Man--and very possibly because of the Smoking Man   
himself--Scully had lost the ability to have children,   
and yet sometime last spring she had been given one.  
  
How had this miracle been accomplished? Could the   
Smoking Man have returned what he had taken?   
  
Click.  
  
"The holiest of grails." ... "the cure"..."without   
this immunity everyone would die" ... "we are   
forcing the next step in human evolution"...   
"something that can save the world"..."something   
that's so unbelievable, so incredible that to know   
it is to look at the entire world anew"..."carry on   
for Mulder from here"..."Now to give you that power"  
..."God's blessing."  
  
A miracle.  
  
Mulder's child.   
  
X X X  
  
J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Washington, D.C.  
10:15am  
  
Dana Waterston laid a file folder neatly on top of the   
stack. Okay, so now she knew what was involved in  
a "X-File," and it was more than the simple fact that  
each case number began with a "X." Every case was...   
well...strange. No, strange was too kind of a word.   
Every case was unbelievable and scientifically  
unexplainable, and most unbelievable of all was that  
she found her own name--or at least Agent Scully's   
name--signing off on nearly every one them. Oh yes,   
Scully's version of a case tended to be more vague   
than Mulder's and her explanations were couched in  
scientific terms, but even Scully's scientific   
explanations defied reality.   
  
Dana Scully was part of a world that Dana Waterston   
could not begin to imagine. Names swirled in her head.   
Padget, Tooms, Pfaster, Bludht. Then there were the  
names that appeared repeatedly: Krycek, Covarrubius,   
Fowley, and Spender.  
  
So many names. So many horrors. Melissa had been   
murdered, and so had Mulder's father. Scully herself   
had been taken by forces unknown. Terrible things had   
been done to her. A child named Emily had been created   
and had died. And Mulder had disappeared. There were   
shadow governments and global conspiracies. There was   
a dark, ugly, ruthless world out there that Dana   
Waterston had never known existed. She wished she   
could return to that state of naiveté.  
  
Dana jumped when the phone rang and breathed a sigh of   
relief when she discovered Steven Doerstling on the   
other end of the line.  
  
"I pulled the CLEO data for last Monday and Tuesday,"  
he announced. "There's no anomalous b quark data."   
  
Scully asked, "How can that be? Neither test was   
properly executed. Shouldn't the fact that people were  
trapped in the accelerator throw off the results in some  
way?"  
  
"That's what I expected," Doerstling conceded.   
  
"But?"   
  
His voice had contained a note that was almost   
inevitably followed by a 'but.'  
  
"But the data doesn't bear that out. I had to adjust my  
theory. I started thinking. The CESR was created to   
slam sub-atomic particles into one another then  
measuring the oscillation of the b quarks. I'm not a   
neurologist but what if one of those particles   
happened to be a neuron? The oscillation would still   
change and be recorded in the b quark data. CLEO   
wouldn't know the difference.   
  
"Only the b quark would be in my brain," Dana  
muttered.  
  
"The b quark was always in your brain. It just changed  
vibrations. It's like a tuning fork being struck."  
  
Dana wanted to say that what Doerstling was proposing   
was impossible, but there were legitimate medical   
studies suggesting neurons were not simple, isolated   
cells. Recent experiments showed that a single neuron   
could perform surprisingly complex functions including   
causing a cascade effect where a change to one cell   
would transmit that change to others.   
  
"It's our simple twist," Doerstling said excitedly.   
  
"What?"  
  
"The simple twist that makes the Mobius strip." He  
continued. "It's the small change that profoundly   
effects the whole."  
  
The change in vibration of a single neuron had changed   
her from one person into another? It should have been   
absurd, yet researchers had shown that even a monkey's  
brain cells could detect a neuron firing difference as   
little as one hundredth of a second.  
  
Was it possible? Could all that separated Dana Scully's   
world from Dana Waterston's be a single oscillating   
quark? Could a miniscule adjustment in frequency   
could shift a person's consciousness as easily as   
changing channels on a radio?   
  
Dana thanked Dr. Doerstling for his help. Yes, she   
felt more calm now. No, she didn't think she would   
go to the FBI staff psychiatrist. No, she would   
never mention Doerstling's near suicide attempt   
to anyone. She understood how such a revelation   
could destroy a famous scientist's reputation.   
  
Dana said good-bye and thought that if she was   
Agent Scully, she would just add another case file   
to the stack...But she wasn't Dana Scully. She   
couldn't assign the bizarre to a neatly categorized   
box. Dana couldn't close the case--at least   
not where it concerned herself. Why was she here?   
  
In Dana's mind's eye--or rather deeply embedded in   
Agent Scully--was the memory of Reverend Robert   
Gailen Orison saying, "Everything has a reason.   
Everything on God's earth."  
  
But if that was true, what was the reason for this?   
What lesson was she supposed to learn...or was the   
lesson for Agent Scully?  
  
X X X  
  
Syndicate Research Facility  
Unknown Location, 4:56pm  
  
The procedure was over. Scully watched dispassionately   
as the last stitch was completed in the Smoking Man's  
scalp. She had tried but failed to understand what  
the purpose of this surgery had been. He had spoken  
of Mulder's immunity to the virus, but while there   
had been some success using gene therapy for   
immunodeficiency disorders, Scully didn't see how   
Mulder's genetic material could produce the results   
the Smoking Man desired.  
  
Of course...it hadn't. This surgery had failed and  
the Smoking Man had been fatally damaged by this   
experiment. It was the cause of the brain   
inflammation he had claimed was killing him. That   
was why he had sought her out last spring.  
  
Surgery couldn't play a part in evolution. For  
evolution there had to be offspring, and if Mulder   
was the starting point, his child would be the next   
step. Would his child--their child--be immune from   
the plague? Was Scully's private miracle part of   
a miracle that could change the fate of the world?  
  
The implications astounded her...and terrified her.   
What would happen if the shadow men who had haunted   
hers and Mulder's lives discovered the truth about   
her baby? What would they do? And how could she   
protect that child when she was trapped in a world   
where she didn't belong?  
  
Scully's breathing hitched. Did she actually believe   
she was in an alternate universe? Was she seriously   
considering the possibility that there were at least  
two versions of herself? It was insane, but, God,   
Scully hoped it was true. If it was, her child might   
still exist.  
  
Against her will Scully allowed longing to slip passed   
her defense. She felt consumed by her need to hold a   
tiny, warm body close to her own, to feel her child's   
sturdy weight, to touch infinitely delicate skin and   
hear a soft gurgle in reply. Scully wanted the   
chance to search her son's or daughter's face to see   
if he had her hair or if she had her father's eyes.   
  
Thoughts and feelings that Scully had held at bay   
since discovering her pregnancy spilled over her   
emotional dam. She had held back for so long,   
afraid to face what had happened to Mulder...and   
what was happening to herself.   
  
Scully had never been much of a fan of Gone with the   
Wind. Never in a million years would she have thought   
she shared a trait with Scarlet O'Hara. But she did.   
Like Scarlett when anything she could not emotionally   
bear happened, Scully filed it away saying she would   
face it tomorrow. Now, 'tomorrow' was upon her, and   
Scully had to claim it.   
  
This was her baby. This was Mulder's child. This  
was the fight she had to fight, the battle she   
could not lose.  
  
Scully gazed at the anesthetized Smoking Man. Months  
ago he had come to her saying that the chip in her   
neck held the cure for all things. She had to   
conclude now that one of those things had been her   
infertility. She could explain the ways a cure was   
not possible, but then a cure for her cancer had   
also not been possible. Somehow a cure for both   
had been found and in both cases she could point to   
God or to the Smoking Man. But whatever the Smoking   
Man had or had not done, Scully would not allow her   
child to also become his pawn.  
  
Scully snapped out of her reverie as the surgeon pulled  
off his gloves announcing, "You can take him into   
recovery." The nurses removed the Smoking Man   
from the room and the surgeon glanced back at Scully.   
There was something in his gaze made her shiver. It   
was pity.   
  
Scully moved to Mulder's side. His head was crudely   
bandaged, but when she touched his neck she found his   
pulse to be steady. This was the condition in which   
she had found him last fall in the Department of   
Defense.  
  
A potent silence enveloped the room after the surgeon   
and anesthesiologist left. Scully didn't look behind   
her. She didn't need to. There was no one left but   
Mulder, herself, and the hulking orderly. Scully also   
didn't need to be reminded that it was at this juncture   
that Diana Fowley had met her death.   
  
Scully had known the risks from the moment she had   
considered approaching the Smoking Man to save   
Mulder's life. It was the risk she had been willing   
to take and would gladly take again.  
  
The orderly stepped toward her, and Scully took a   
step back. The future was upon her. She gauged the   
man's height and weight and calculated what she would  
need to do to defend herself. Considering the man  
outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds Scully   
knew that her odds weren't good. Her best chance   
was to run, but Scully couldn't do that. There   
was Mulder.  
  
What Scully really needed was her gun, but she hadn't   
attempted to smuggle a weapon into the facility.   
Her opponent was too canny for such a clumsy plan.   
Besides she had needed to look as defenseless as   
possible to convince the Smoking Man to take her   
with him. No, that wasn't accurate. Scully had   
needed to project an aura of being defenseless   
while also appearing to be a threat. She had   
needed to make it impossible for the Smoking Man   
to leave her behind...and now it was time to pay   
the price.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
****************************************************  
Grown-ups never understand anything for themselves,  
and it is tiresome for children to be always and  
forever explaining things to them.  
Antoine de Saint-Exupery  
"The Little Prince"  
*****************************************************  
  
CHAPTER TWELVE  
  
  
The orderly took a step toward Scully as she debated   
whether to retreat or stand her ground. Then again,   
Perhaps her best option might be to go on the offensive.  
Attack first.  
  
"Lady, we can do this easy or we can do this hard,"   
the orderly told her.  
  
Scully would have preferred the option of not "doing   
this" at all. While she knew how to defend herself, she  
preferred using her head to physical confrontation  
...especially when her opponent could bench press her   
body weight without breaking a sweat. Scully searched   
for something to say to distract the man or at least to   
act as a delay tactic.   
  
Her mind went blank.   
  
X X X  
  
Mulder pulled away from the child holding his hand,   
and the puzzled way the boy looked at him struck   
Mulder as familiar...but Mulder couldn't place where   
he had seen such an expression. There was just something   
about the way the child watched him with a curious   
mixture of expectation and doubt.  
  
"Where are you leading me?" Mulder asked.  
  
"Don't you know?"  
  
Mulder knelt in the sand and placed his hands on   
the boy's thin shoulders. He turned the child around   
to look at the vast expanse of sand and ocean. "There's   
nothing here."  
  
The boy looked back at him and said with simple faith,   
"Yes, there is."  
  
"I don't see anything."  
  
"Then you aren't looking hard enough."  
  
X X X  
  
Scully pressed herself against the wall. Beneath   
her hands she could feel the rough lines of grout lying  
between ceramic tiles and knew there was nowhere to go.   
A tray filled with medical instruments stood on the  
opposite side of the room behind the orderly. She   
had no hope of reaching it to find a makeshift weapon.  
  
Her attacker's smile filled with a sick kind of pleasure   
at seeing Scully helpless. Of course it would be   
unrealistic to expect CSM's henchman not to enjoy   
intimidation and violence, and Scully was nothing if   
not relentlessly realistic.  
  
"This isn't personal," the man told her.  
  
"Of course not."  
  
"I got orders."  
  
"I understand perfectly."  
  
He cocked his head to the side. "You're gonna fight   
though, aren't you?"   
  
"Yes."  
  
His smile grew wider. "Good."  
  
He lunged for Scully.  
  
X X X  
  
Mulder frowned as he looked at the boy. "What am I   
supposed to see?"  
  
"What you're looking for."  
  
And Mulder had thought "the child is the father of the   
man" was an enigmatic statement. At the moment Mulder   
wasn't sure if both statements made some Zen-like   
logic or were simply Star Wars derived pseudo-philosophy.   
Surely any minute now CSM would to walk down the beach to   
announce he was Mulder's father...Mulder blinked as a   
shudder raced through him. Something about that last   
thought seemed all too real, almost as though it had   
actually happened.   
  
"You want something from me," Mulder said to the child.   
"What?"  
  
"Help."  
  
There was such earnest vulnerability in the boy's gaze  
that Mulder couldn't doubt him. "Help with what?"  
  
"With everything."  
  
Mulder waited. He wanted--no, he needed-- the boy   
to say more, only the child turned and continued   
walking down the beach. Moments later the boy paused   
and looked back at Mulder with a frustrated expression.   
"I can't do this without you."  
  
"Then tell me what you need and don't sound like Yoda  
while doing it, and maybe I'll consider helping you,"   
Mulder insisted.  
  
The child didn't answer.  
  
"You said 'she' needed me," Mulder added. "Who's   
'she'? Scully?"  
  
The boy bit his lip and nodded.  
  
"How can I help Scully?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
Mulder raked his hand through his cropped hair.  
"You aren't making this very easy."  
  
Tears filled the boy's dark eyes. "I don't know what   
you want me to say. I don't know the answers." It  
was a plaintive, helpless cry. "I just know I need   
you...and her."   
  
Regret flooded Mulder. He felt like an asshole. This  
was just a kid after all. He lifted the child's  
trembling chin. "I want to help you. Can't you give  
me an idea how?"  
  
"Help her, first. If you help her, you help me.  
I need her. We all do."  
  
"Who's 'we'?"  
  
The boy lifted a small, fragile hand and touched   
Mulder's temple. "We're all the same."  
  
What the hell? What kind of answer was  
that?   
  
Then Mulder fell.   
  
X X X  
  
Mulder's eyes flew open and he realized he wasn't   
really falling. It was just the strangely weightless   
sensation that hovered around the edges of sleep, but   
the single moment of terror had jerked him back to   
consciousness and to life.   
  
Mulder squinted against blinding lights...surgical   
lights he realized with only mild surprise. He   
turned his head and as his vision came into focus   
Mulder noticed a woman standing against the wall   
with a beefy behemoth standing over her.   
  
"Scully," Mulder croaked.  
  
She didn't hear him but stood glaring at the stranger   
who trying intimidate her. Good luck, Mulder thought.  
Scully wasn't easy to intimidate.   
  
"You could turn the other way and let me escape,"   
Scully told the man who menaced her. "I can disappear   
with my friend. No one will ever hear from us again."  
  
"Not good enough," the behemoth grunted. "I was told   
to off ya."  
  
At least the man didn't strain his intellect by  
lying, Mulder thought.   
  
The henchman explained to Scully, "If I don't kill   
you, they'll be pissed; and, around here, if you   
piss someone off you wind up dead."  
  
"And I pissed someone off?" Scully asked. She sounded  
genuinely surprised, which could only be an act. Too  
bad her dark sense of humor was completely lost on  
her would be attacker.  
  
"Don't know who you pissed off, lady. Don't much   
care. Like I said, I got my orders."  
  
"So you're just going to attack me?"  
  
"Damnit, woman, do you got to be difficult?"  
  
"I'm afraid that I do."  
  
The orderly was visibly confused by Scully's unshakable  
calm. He rubbed his hand over his forehead as he   
muttered incomprehensibly. Scully was clearly driving   
him nuts. Taking advantage of the man's distraction   
Scully shoved her knee into the man's crotch.   
  
Mulder grinned. Scully was a class A ballbreaker. He   
liked it.  
  
Scully's attacker doubled over in pain, but when she   
began to pull away the man grabbed her. Twisting in   
his grip, Scully lost her balance and fell to the   
floor with a loud, inelegant grunt. Her normally calm   
face was marred by a flash of panic that was quickly   
hidden by a mask of fierce determination.   
  
Scully rolled over and kicked the son of a bitch.  
If Mulder could have moved his head without screaming   
he would have shaken it in disbelief. Scully used  
her feet to land the blows her small fists couldn't.  
This bastard would be lucky if he could still father  
children after this fight.  
  
"Bitch!" her attacker growled between clenched teeth.   
  
Scully didn't waste her breath with a response.  
She slammed her leg into the back of the man's knees.  
  
With one hand clutching his testicles and another  
grabbing a surgical cart, her attacker fell to the   
floor as medical instruments clattered around him.   
Scully scurried to her feet, and finally her gaze   
locked with Mulder's.   
  
She stopped moving. Her lips parted. Scully looked  
astonished as she took a breath. Light seemed to   
enter her shadowed eyes. "Mulder?"   
  
Scully's attacker grabbed her from behind. Thrown  
off balance, and they both tumbled to the floor with   
a solid thud.  
  
"You fucking bitch!" the orderly growled and hit   
her in the jaw. Hard.   
  
Mulder saw red. Gritting his teeth, he tried to   
force his muscles to work. Scully lifted her head,   
and there was blood at the corner of her mouth where   
her lip had been split. There was also an ugly red   
welt on her cheek that would lead to an even uglier   
bruise.   
  
Shit. Scully was having the hell beaten out by an   
idiot in a steroid rage, and Mulder couldn't lift   
a finger to help. Silently screaming from blinding   
sparks of pain, Mulder forced himself to sit. He   
probably looked like Frankenstein's monster as he   
stiff-leggedly lowered his feet to the floor.   
  
The bastard grabbed Scully's hair. As painful as it   
must have been, Scully didn't yell. The man pulled   
her to her feet and slammed her into the wall. The   
son of a bitch was grinning!  
  
"I'm gonna kill you, bitch," the man threatened.  
  
"Not today," Mulder growled while whacking the bone  
saw beneath the s.o.b.'s chin then bringing it   
crashing down on his head.   
  
Scully looked uncharacteristically speechless as her   
attacker slumped to the floor. Mulder grinned,   
then slipped to the floor himself. Scully blinked   
owlishly for a moment but quickly gathered herself   
together. "Hold him down," she ordered.  
  
"What?"  
  
She knelt on the floor and reached into her pocket.  
Mulder pulled himself toward her. Scully looked  
at Mulder pointedly until he lifted himself and   
parked his keister squarely in the middle of the   
henchman's back.   
  
"What's that?" Mulder asked when Scully pulled   
a syringe out of her pocket.  
  
"Insurance," she said breathlessly. "I couldn't   
smuggle a weapon into this place but narcotics   
are a different story."  
  
Given his mind-splitting headache Mulder was tempted  
to ask if she had any to spare. "How long will   
this guy be out of commission?" he asked.  
  
Without a trace of gentleness Scully jabbed the   
needle into the man's neck. "Long enough."  
  
"Good, because I don't believe either of us are up   
for another round of this fight."  
  
Sitting back on her heels, Scully's businesslike   
expression disappeared. Her steely gaze turned a  
soft, compassionate blue as she reached to touch  
his face. "You look like hell, Mulder."  
  
"That's good. Wouldn't want my looks to be   
deceiving."  
  
She gingerly brushed her fingers across his brow.   
For a moment Mulder almost thought he saw her hand   
tremble.   
  
"You should be in bed," she said softly.  
  
"Didn't look like the best time for a nap."  
  
Her warm palm cupped his cheek, but Scully didn't   
say anything. She simply looked at him, as  
if she was trying to memorize his every feature.   
Mulder felt his flippancy wash away.  
  
"Thank you," she whispered earnestly.  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
She touched his bandage. "Now, lean your head back."   
  
After giving her a questioning look, Mulder did as   
she asked. Scully rose to her knees, and Mulder   
realized she wasn't gazing at him in loverlike   
devotion. She moved with the brisk efficiency of a   
doctor.   
  
"Good," Scully murmured as she examined his stitches.   
"Now lower your head." As she inspected his bandages   
Mulder contented himself with contemplating the   
shadowy cleft between her breasts which was barely   
visible due to the gaping collar. Okay, so that it   
was sexist and inappropriate given their situation,   
but, hell, he was a man!   
  
Scully sat back, and Mulder tore his gaze from her   
soft, inviting skin.   
  
"We can't stay here," she announced.  
  
"I gathered as much."  
  
Scully stood and offered her hand. Mulder looked   
at it, then up at her. He searched her pale, battered   
face and her tired, desperate eyes. Despite looking   
like a wreck, Scully was beautiful...at least to him.   
He saw more than the red mark across her cheek or the   
dark circles under her eyes. There was so much more   
to her than disheveled hair and wrinkled clothing.   
She was a pint sized Valkyrie. A woman who stood   
her ground and gave no quarter. Fierce intelligence   
lit her eyes even when they were filled with affection   
and concern...and most astounding of all the concern   
was for him.   
  
Damn. It felt strange to matter to someone, to see   
someone worry and fret and care. It felt surreal.   
When was the last time someone had cared about his   
fate? Okay, so he had a not always unconscious habit   
of pissing people off. Over the years he had become   
quite adept at alienating people. Yet here stood a   
woman who had walked into a death trap...for him. How   
could one small person embody so much loyalty?  
  
Mulder hoped he deserved it.   
  
Scully still stood offering her hand. Mulder took   
it and was surprised by the supple strength of the   
fingers that laced with his.   
  
"We need to go." He was only saying out loud what   
they both knew to be true.  
  
Scully asked, "Where?"  
  
"Out."  
  
"Easy answer, but out where? Out how?"  
  
"You didn't have the time to scope the place?"  
  
Scully shook her head. "Not the time or the   
opportunity."  
  
Mulder grimaced. "Do you know where we are?"  
  
"They didn't blindfold me and spin me around   
three times, but they may as well have."  
  
There was a sound in the hallway.  
  
Mulder's senses sharpened. "We can't stand here   
debating. We'll just have to go for it and hope   
our luck holds."  
  
"Since when do we have luck?"  
  
He looked at Scully. Somehow her statement came off  
half serious and half teasing. She was a complete  
mystery to him. They turned as the sound from the   
hallway moved into the scrub room. Without a word,   
Scully helped Mulder to his feet.   
  
Pausing to check that the coast was clear Mulder was  
gratified to see that their luck held. The corridor   
was empty. Mulder squeezed Scully's hand. He hadn't   
even been aware of holding onto her until he had   
squeezed. Turns out he hadn't released his grip since   
Scully had laced her fingers with his. Mulder looked   
downat her small, well manicured nails, at the   
paleness of her skin against the unnatural paleness   
of his own. He felt the caressing way her thumb   
unconsciously moved over the back of his hand. He   
liked it.  
  
"This way," Mulder pulled her down the corridor.  
  
Scully didn't question why. Mulder was happy   
about that because he didn't have a good reason   
for choosing one direction over another. He just   
knew they couldn't stay where they were.  
  
The hall looked endless with countless identical   
corridors bisecting it. They turned left. They   
turned right. It made little difference. Everywhere   
they went looked essentially the same. Mulder hoped   
like hell they weren't walking in circles.  
  
"I hope we aren't going in circles," he heard Scully say   
under her breath. It was unnerving to hear someone give   
voice to his thoughts.  
  
"We're not going in circles," Mulder assured her.  
  
She looked at him with a curious mixture of hope   
and doubt. "Sure about that?"   
  
Mulder's breath caught at the impossible familiarity  
of the expression. "I'm certain."   
  
Sure he was. Right. Who was he fooling? Certainly   
not her. He was only enacting the timeless male   
ritual of refusing to stop to ask for directions.   
Then again, it wasn't exactly appropriate to ask for   
directions in this situation.  
  
"Someone's coming," Scully warned.  
  
Mulder tried a door they came to. It was locked.   
The next one was locked as well. The third opened   
easily. They slipped inside just as footsteps could   
be heard turning the corner.   
  
Mulder leaned against the door as Scully's hand   
slipped free of his. Her fingers slid upward, wrapping   
around his wrist. She's checking my pulse, he realized.  
  
"You shouldn't be doing this," Scully complained   
softly.  
  
"I can think of better ways to spend my Sunday   
afternoons."  
  
"It's Tuesday." She looked exhausted. "You've been   
under anesthesia most of the day, and have just had   
major surgery. You should be in a recovery room."  
  
"Doesn't look like that's an option."  
  
Scully pushed her hand through her hair.   
"Unfortunately, you're right."  
  
Mulder wavered on his feet.  
  
"At least sit down," she insisted.  
  
They looked around. There wasn't a place to sit.   
They were in a small, cramped space filled with   
oversized air handling units that had foil wrapped   
ducts protruding out of them and running in all   
directions. Sliding to the floor with his back   
braced against the air handler, Mulder looked up at   
the ducts. "Think we could climb out through one   
of those?"  
  
"Only if we were trapped in a Bruce Willis movie."   
Scully looked at the galvanized metal with serious   
consideration. "I don't think those hanger wires   
would hold us and the ducts look like they might   
cause claustrophobia. Besides, where would they   
lead except to here? Aren't these the units feeding   
the ducts?"  
  
"Beats me. Ask a mechanical engineer." Mulder   
closed his eyes and rested his head against the   
HVAC unit. "I suppose now we resort to Plan B."  
  
"I don't have a Plan B," Scully confessed "Do you?"  
  
Mulder shook his head wearily as water splattered on   
his face. He opened his eyes. Mulder was sitting   
directly beneath a sprinkler head. "I've got it."  
  
Scully looked at him questioningly.  
  
He pointed to the sprinkler. "Plan B."  
  
Now Scully looked at him like he was crazy. Mulder   
couldn't help himself. He grinned.  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Mobius Part IV

TITLE: Mobius   
AUTHOR: L.A. Ward  
EMAIL ADDRESS: LAWard@aol.com   
URL: www.hometown.aol.com/laward/eclectic.html  
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Sure, just let me know.  
SPOILER WARNING: Anything through Season 7  
including Requiem  
RATING: PG-13 (for language)  
CLASSIFICATION: X/MSR/A  
  
X-file casefile with Mytharc  
MSR  
Scully Angst/Mulder Angst   
  
SUMMARY: While investigating the disappearance of  
a physicist, Scully finds someone she didn't   
expect--Mulder.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Never mine. Wish they were,   
but they belong to Chris. Have no money so don't  
bother to sue.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I cannot say enough nice things for   
the wonderful people who undertook the task of beta   
reading. Thanks to all of them, but special thanks to  
Shari, Rosemary, and Fran.  
  
  
*******************************************************  
Long is the way. And hard, that out of hell leads up  
to light.  
John Milton  
"Paradise Lost"  
*******************************************************  
  
CHAPTER THIRTEEN   
  
Dana Scully's Residence  
Georgetown  
Washington, D.C.  
5:08pm  
  
Dana paid the taxi driver. She really needed to track  
down Dana Scully's car and begin driving. It made no   
sense to continue paying the outrageous price of a   
taxi. It felt wasteful.  
  
Dana started up the steps to Scully's apartment   
building then came to a halt when a young woman   
approached her. "Dana, I'm not sure if you remember me."   
  
"Maggie," Dana whispered in a state of semi-shock.   
"You're Daniel's daughter. Of course I remember you."  
  
Maggie looked uncomfortable and dropped her head to   
stare at her shoes. "I found your address in my   
father's things..." Her voice trailed off.  
  
Dana wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel about   
that. For all that Dana had gleaned about Scully's  
relationship with Mulder, she had no clue about what   
relationship Scully may or may not have had with   
Daniel.   
  
Maggie shifted anxiously on the balls of her feet.   
  
"Would you like to come inside?" Dana asked. "I   
can offer you tea or something."  
  
Maggie looked up and there was an impossible mix of   
emotions in her improbably bright eyes. For Dana it  
was like felt watching a deer trapped in headlights  
...which was a strange thought. Under most circumstances   
a deer wasn't the first animal Dana would associate with   
Daniel's daughter. In Dana's experience Maggie had   
always been a sullen and resentful young woman. But   
this was a different life and Scully had never married   
Daniel Waterston. Things were different here, and  
as the two of them stood in the fading light of dusk  
Dana saw that the previously recalcitrant Maggie  
Waterston now looked as fragile as glass. If Dana   
said the wrong thing she wondered if Maggie would  
shatter.   
  
Maggie glanced up at the apartment building,   
With her hands shoved into her jeans' pockets   
she decided, "Tea would be nice."  
  
X X X  
  
Syndicate Research Facility  
Location Unknown, 5:13pm  
  
"Have you got it?" Mulder asked.  
  
"No."  
  
"Here, let me help."  
  
"No."  
  
"You need help."  
  
Scully glared at him. "And you need to sit down."   
  
Mulder sighed as Scully pushed against the heavy   
steel panel over her head.   
  
"You can't push that open," he repeated. "You don't   
have the upper body strength. If you would just let   
me help--"  
  
"I said SIT DOWN!"  
  
Mulder stepped back. How did such a little person   
contain such a big "don't give me any shit" voice?   
Mulder crossed his arms and decided that the voice   
probably came from the same place as her dogged   
determination. One way or another Scully was the   
unstoppable force intent on moving the immovable   
object. He should help her.  
  
Almost as if Scully heard his thoughts, she looked   
Mulder dead in the eyes. "You just had major surgery.   
I won't allow you to injure yourself."  
  
"I think I could be severely--if not mortally--injured   
if they catch up with us."  
  
"I can open this," she insisted. And, amazingly, Scully   
could. The heavy steel cover began to move.   
  
Impressive, Mulder thought...but he could still claim   
credit for being the one to find their means of escape.   
When he had pointed to the sprinkler, Scully had   
looked at him as though he had lost his mind. Exactly   
what was he suggesting? Were they supposed to crawl   
through a sprinkler pipe.  
  
"The stand pipes," Mulder had explained.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Several years ago I profiled a case where the prime   
suspect was the maintenance engineer at a hospital--"  
  
"The janitor."  
  
Mulder shrugged. "Yeah, the janitor, but he saw   
himself as a mercy killer."  
  
She arched a brow. "Involuntary euthanasia?"  
  
"Succinylcholine in the IVs. Very nasty. He took out   
three ICU patients, two terminal cancer patients,   
and one particularly bitchy nurse. When I caught up   
with him he tried escaping through a tunnel that ran   
under the hospital."  
  
He had Scully's attention. "What sort of tunnel?"   
  
"One where the fire suppression stand pipes connected  
to the city water system."  
  
"The sewer," Scully concluded.  
  
"Fire sprinklers run on a separate high pressure water  
line that ties directly into a city water which   
requires an exterior manhole."  
  
"So we follow this sprinkler pipe to the stand pipes   
and escape through the sewer," Scully had reasoned.  
  
"Yeah." Mulder had dragged himself to his feet while   
ignoring his splitting headache.  
  
The plan had sounded simple and luckily it had been.   
The sprinkler pipe that had dribbled on him in the   
mechanical room had lead directly to a chase that   
had dropped into the tunnel--or as Scully insisted on   
calling it--the sewer.  
  
At the moment, Mulder couldn't bring himself to argue   
with Scully's description of the tunnel as a sewer. The   
passage was dark, dank, and had a distinctly sewer-like  
smell. He couldn't leave it fast enough.   
  
Without a flashlight both Mulder and Scully had   
depended on the pale stream on light bleeding through   
two of the holes of what they hoped was a manhole cover.   
They also hoped the sewer exit was a safe distance away  
from the Syndicate's research complex. Mulder had no  
desire to slosh his way through a sewer only to  
deliver himself directly into the hands of the   
Cigarette Smoking Man.  
  
Scully gave one last groan and finished opening  
the manhole. Self sufficiency was a real bitch.   
Scully might feel quite empowered by her competency,   
but Mulder felt useless.  
  
Okay, so he had just come out of surgery, and he was  
none too steady on his feet. He also had a blinding  
headache and his bare ass was hanging out his surgical  
gown, but it still went against his grain to watch   
Scully struggle while he twiddled his thumbs.  
  
Scully's breathing grew strained and loud in the   
silence of the sewer as she pushed the cover aside  
and poked her head through the manhole.  
  
"Anyone out there?" Mulder asked.  
  
"Not at the moment."  
  
After Scully climbed through the opening, Mulder   
looked at the workman's outfit in his hands. Just   
before exiting the mechanical room Scully had found   
the discarded clothing. Mulder hadn't been thrilled   
with the idea of going commando in a stranger's   
clothes, but he was somewhat less thrilled by the   
idea of exiting the sewer with his ass hanging out.  
  
Scully looked over the edge. "What's the hold up?"  
  
"Costume change." He looked in Scully's direction.   
"Aren't you going to avert your eyes or something?"  
  
"You don't have anything I haven't seen before. I'm  
a doctor, remember?"  
  
When her steady gaze didn't move, Mulder muttered  
good naturedly, "To hell with chivalry." He began  
stripping and Mulder thought he saw Scully smile just   
before she disappeared from view.  
  
A few minutes later Mulder pulled himself out of the  
tunnel. "It's still daylight," he realized in mild  
surprise.  
  
"Barely." Scully gazed at the hazy gray-blue sky   
peeking through the dense foliage of towering pine   
trees. Their manhole was in the middle of nowhere.  
  
This wasn't what Mulder had expected. "Where the hell   
are we?"   
  
"I don't know," she said softly.  
  
He frowned. "You don't know? How did you get here?"  
  
"A UPS van."  
  
He stepped back. "You're kidding."  
  
Scully shot Mulder a look that told him she was   
definitely not kidding. "It wasn't a normal UPS  
van. It was a modified ambulance of some sort, and it   
didn't allow for much sightseeing."  
  
Mulder shifted uncomfortably in the dirty white work  
coveralls. "So we're lost in the wilderness."  
  
"Looks like it."  
  
Noting the darkening sky he muttered, "We should  
start moving. We don't have much daylight left."  
  
Scully started walking west at a slow but steady  
pace. However, even with their slow movement  
it didn't take long for Mulder to begin breathing hard.  
"Shit, I'm in better shape than this," he insisted.  
  
"You've been unconscious for days. You've--"  
  
"Had surgery. Yeah, I remember that."  
  
Scully's brows drew together creating a frown line.   
"How much do you remember?"  
  
"Of what? Of what happened or of you?"  
  
He watched Scully's face, mesmerized by the way   
emotions and thoughts momentarily shaded her  
features then hid behind a calm mask.   
  
"Either." But under her breath she added, "Both."  
  
"The last thing I remember is the rubbing of the   
African artifact." He noticed that Scully nodded as   
if she knew exactly what he was talking about...which   
was strange because she hadn't been there. Then again,   
that was only one strange thing in the midst of   
hundreds. Mulder confessed. "After passing out in the   
lab the only memories I have are disjointed and   
disconnected."  
  
Again Scully nodded as if she understood. And any way  
Mulder looked at it, Scully understanding what he was   
saying should have been impossible. He hadn't given   
her any details. His explanation was half assed at best,   
but Scully seemed to know the story almost as well as he  
did. She understood...almost as if she had been there.   
That should freak him out or at least make him feel   
suspicious.   
  
It didn't.   
  
It felt...right.   
  
Mulder gazed at Scully speculatively. "Is it my   
turn to ask questions?"   
  
Her blue eyes met his as she gave an almost   
imperceptible nod.  
  
He asked, "How can I have memories of you? Is it   
some sort of previous life regression thing?"  
  
She laughed. "As in 'I was born in 1843, and we knew   
each other then?'"  
  
He nodded and watched her expectantly.  
  
"No, it's nothing like that."   
  
"Damn." He couldn't help it. He was just a little  
disappointed. He couldn't help thinking that past   
life regression would make a great X-File. However,   
noting Scully's frown it was clear she didn't feel   
the same way. Mulder sobered. "So tell me, what is   
it like?"   
  
Scully didn't answer.   
  
They faced one another across an extremely small   
distance. All it would take was one lifted hand   
and they would touch.   
  
Mulder sighed. "Before I landed in the hospital, I   
had never met you. But I have memories of you--memories   
of us. Can you explain that?"  
  
Scully began picking at the bark on a tree, but  
still didn't say anything. Finally she turned   
scrambled up an outcropping of rocks. She didn't  
stop until she could stand and look out at the horizon.   
It was only then that Mulder noticed that they were   
standing on a ledge at a very high altitude.   
  
Scully asked, "Where do you think we are?"   
  
"You didn't answer my question."  
  
She acted as if he hadn't said a thing. "We're too   
exposed here. The Smoking Man's men can't be far   
behind us."  
  
She isn't going to explain, Mulder realized. He   
wondered why? Scully didn't seem like an evasive   
person. In fact she seemed to pride herself on   
being as straightforward as humanly possible.  
  
Falling back on his profiler skills, Mulder decided   
that perhaps Scully wasn't avoiding HIS questions...she   
was avoiding her own.  
  
X X X  
  
The surgeon shone a penlight into the Smoking Man's   
eyes. After a moment he nodded then stepped away from   
the bed. "Welcome back," he said while removing his   
latex gloves.  
  
Though he felt like hell, the Smoking Man managed a   
grim smile. "It's good to be back."  
  
The doctor didn't respond.  
  
"You look concerned," CSM added. "Was the operation   
not a success?"  
  
The surgeon frowned. "This was an untested procedure.   
There is no way to tell at this point whether   
it will accomplish more good than damage."  
  
"There has been damage?"  
  
"When foreign matter has been introduced to the body,   
there is always the potential for damage."  
  
The Smoking Man gave a low, rumbling chuckle. "Do not  
say that at this late stage of the game you're worried   
about your Hippocratic oath."  
  
"First, do no harm."  
  
The old man smiled. "I'm alive, aren't I?"   
  
The surgeon glanced away.   
  
"Tell me, Doctor, what is your definition of harm? The   
extinction of the human race?" The Smoking Man frowned.   
"Or perhaps Mulder has not fared well. Is that it?   
Have you lost a patient after all?"  
  
The surgeon turned sharply as if reluctant to face his  
patient, making the old man wish he could reach for a  
cigarette. He could use one, but no doubt the doctor   
would refuse him. Few people refused the Cigarette  
Smoking Man and lived, but then this was his doctor...  
and of course there was oxygen in the room.   
  
"Is Mulder gone?" the old man asked again.  
  
"Yes. So is the woman."  
  
CSM slanted his gaze toward the doctor. "Mulder is   
alive?"  
  
"We have no reason to think otherwise."  
  
He nodded. "So lovely Dr. Waterston accomplished   
her goal after all."   
  
The surgeon's brow knitted in a questioning frown.   
  
"The only reason she came here was to rescue Mulder,"   
the old man explain in his low, emotionless voice.   
He stated flatly, "She won't succeed."   
  
  
X X X  
  
Dana Scully's Residence  
Georgetown  
Washington, D.C.  
5:40pm  
  
Dana sat at the dining table watching Maggie Waterston   
stare into a cup of green tea. Dana didn't say anything.   
She was still in a state of shock at finding Daniel's   
daughter standing on Scully's doorstep.  
  
"I'm not sure where to start," Maggie told her.   
  
Dana wasn't sure how to help her start. She had never  
been able to talk to Maggie. Every encounter she had  
ever had with her stepdaughter had been awkward and   
tension filled.   
  
Maggie lifted her startlingly bright eyes and announced   
in a stark voice, "My father died two weeks ago."  
  
Dana was speechless. Daniel was dead? It was the last   
thing she had expected to hear. Her husband was dead...  
only he wasn't her husband. Or rather he wasn't Scully's   
husband. The sheer perversity of her situation made   
impossible for Dana to feel possessive of anything. But  
still, in another time, another life Daniel Waterston  
was her husband and now he was dead.  
  
The logistics of this nightmare were beginning  
to make Dana's head hurt, but one thought began  
a quiet litany inside of her. Daniel was dead. How  
was she supposed to react to that? This shock   
coming after so many others simply left Dana   
feeling numb.  
  
Maggie nervously fingered the handle of the antique  
china cup. "Maybe I should have called you when it   
happened." The younger woman glanced up anxiously.   
"Is that what you would have wanted? Or would you   
prefer that I not be here now? The last time I saw   
you, I had the impression that you had moved on   
with your life. You didn't seem interested having my   
father in it."   
  
Dana searched in vain for something to say.   
  
Maggie pushed the tea cup away, stood, and began  
pacing. "Then again maybe the reason I didn't call   
you had nothing to do with you. Maybe I didn't   
contact you because I knew my father wanted you   
there." She stopped and asked, "Was that cruel?"  
  
"Cruel?"   
  
"My father didn't mention you by name, not after the   
alternative medicine incident. But I know he wanted you   
there. I knew it but I never did a thing about it. I   
denied my father his dying wish. Is that cruel?"  
  
"If he never mentioned me, what makes you think he   
wanted to see me?" Dana asked logically.  
  
Maggie laughed harshly. "Oh he wanted to see you. He   
wanted one more woman weeping at his bedside. It   
would have completed the picture since Mom refused   
to play along."  
  
Dana was startled. "Your mother?" Barbara Waterston   
was dead. She had committed suicide years ago. She   
had done it just after...Dana sighed. Those incidents   
had never happened in this world. Scully had made   
different choices. How many times must Dana face that  
truth before it became real to her?  
  
Maggie's smile twisted bitterly. "Mom told Dad where   
he could stick it. She did come to his funeral though.   
She even cried. She just refused to give him the   
satisfaction of SEEING her cry."   
  
Dana picked up Maggie's cup and walked toward the sink   
to rinse it out. "Maybe you didn't call me out of   
respect for your mother," she theorized.  
  
Maggie shook her head. "Mom wouldn't give a damn if   
I called you. Not any more. No, I...I didn't call   
because I didn't want you there."  
  
Then why are you here now? Dana wondered.  
  
Maggie's hand moved jerkily, nervously as she paced.  
"I didn't call because I didn't want to. But that   
doesn't seem fair. You saved his life." She stopped  
pacing. "He may not have wanted to admit it, and he  
may have mocked you for it. But I know you saved his   
life, and at the end he wanted you there."  
  
"What about what you wanted?"   
  
Maggie shrugged. "Dad never bothered with what I   
wanted."  
  
That was true of both Daniels. His priorities had  
been simple--himself, THEN everyone else. The world  
could go to hell and unless it directly involved him.   
  
Dana said tentatively "Maybe you're not calling me   
was your way of finally getting what you wanted. For   
once your needs came first."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
Almost definitely.  
  
Maggie rested her hands on the back of one  
of Scully's dining chairs. "I...want to thank   
you," she said haltingly.  
  
Dana blinked. "What?"  
  
"I want to thank you. More than anything else, more   
than telling you of my father's death, that's why I   
came here tonight."  
  
Dana was surprised and confused. The one thing   
she had never expected out of Maggie Waterston was   
gratitude. For that matter she had never even   
expected respect, yet somehow Dana Scully had earned   
both.  
  
"You gave me a chance," Maggie confessed. "A chance  
for my father and myself to correct our mistakes."   
Her eyes filled with unshed tears. "He may not have   
taken that chance but still, there was one, and I   
have you to thank for it."  
  
"I'm sorry I couldn't have helped more," was all that  
Dana could think to say.  
  
Maggie shook her head. "It was enough. It may not   
have been a happy ending, but I think it was a valid   
one. Given the way my father was, I can't imagine a   
different one. At any rate, you gave me time to come   
to peace with who he was, to accept him warts and all.   
Now I'm free to move on, and I have you to thank   
for it."  
  
Dana shook her head. "I don't know what to say."  
  
"You don't have to say anything, and I've probably   
said too much. I probably should have just sent a   
card--"   
  
"No," Dana protested. "No, it was good to see you.   
I'm glad you came by."  
  
X X X   
  
Pisgah National Forest  
6:13pm  
  
Mulder leaned against Scully, and he hated it. Yes,   
there was physical pleasure in being close to her,   
but it bothered him to feel helpless, to be dependent   
on another person. Call it male ego, but shouldn't   
he be capable of ignoring a migraine and blurry   
vision? Mind over matter and all that.   
  
Mulder had been through some harrowing situations   
in his life and had always dragged himself out of   
them without leaning on a slender pair of female   
shoulders. Of course in the past he had no choice.   
There had been no one to lean against, no one to   
help shoulder the burden.   
  
He had to admit that it felt good to have   
someone beside him.   
  
Besides, it was easier to play tortured superhero   
when you had a black rubber bat suit, and Mulder   
was fresh out of latex. Not to mention the fact  
that at the moment the best secret identity he   
could qualify for would be 'Migraine Man.'   
  
Trying to distract himself from his headache Mulder   
asked, "Exactly how long did it take that modified   
UPS van to reach the research facility?"  
  
Scully stopped moving. "We left D.C. around 8pm and   
it was daylight when we arrived." Closing her  
eyes momentarily, she took a deep breath. Mulder   
could feel her exhausted muscles trembling beneath   
him. Scully's energy reserves were running out.  
  
Ignoring his headache and dizziness, Mulder shifted   
his weight onto his own feet. If the two of them were   
going to make it, he needed to carry his own weight.   
  
Unsteady on his feet, Mulder focused on questions   
that needed answers. "So we're somewhere that can  
be reached by car in ten to twelve hours." After   
filling his lungs with the thin air, Mulder added,   
"Somewhere with a fairly impressive elevation."  
  
Free of Mulder's weight Scully bent over and rested   
her hands on her thighs. Mulder thought her breathing   
was more labored than before, but he didn't think she   
would appreciate his pointing that out. "We're   
lost in some mountain range south of D.C." Scully   
concluded raggedly.   
  
"South?"  
  
Scully stood. "Don't ask me why. But this seems...I   
don't know. Wouldn't it be colder than this in   
mountains ten hours north of D.C.?"  
  
"Maybe," he agreed. "But when it gets dark, I have a   
feeling this will be more than cold enough."  
  
Mulder watched the sun sink relentlessly toward the  
horizon, a jagged, indistinct edge hidden by sparse  
cloud cover. Soon the glowing orange orb would   
disappear entirely, leaving them in a dark, near   
moonless night.  
  
Mulder frowned. "If this is south of D.C. we can rule   
out the Adirondacks."  
  
"The Appalachians, maybe?"  
  
Mulder faced Scully. "Where? The Appalachians   
cover a lot of terrain."   
  
"I don't know." Scully gingerly touched the ugly   
bruise beginning to mar her jaw. She flinched and  
dropped her hand. "We should keep moving."  
  
Mulder didn't argue. In silence they followed a trail  
that sharply descended the mountain. Picking their  
way down this path in the dark was going to be   
dangerous if not fatal. Even as Mulder thought it,   
Scully's foot slid, sending pebbles plummeting over the   
rock ledge. Mulder caught her arm and pulled her sharply   
toward him. Her small body collided with his. He stepped   
awkwardly to the side but maintained his balance as his   
hand clasped her shoulder. For a moment Scully rested   
against him, her bright head pressed his chest. However,   
only seconds passed before Scully pulled away.   
  
Mulder missed the contact.  
  
"We're going to have to stop for the night," Scully   
announced. "If we keep going in the dark, one of us   
is going to break his neck." She looked up at the   
gray-blue sky that was deepening to a misty shade of   
violet. "And, Mulder, you don't need to be exposed   
to the elements. Under any other circumstances you'd   
be hospitalized right now."  
  
"Yeah, well, I specialize in 'other circumstances.'   
I'll survive." He looked around them. "It wouldn't   
hurt to have a better idea where we are though."   
  
"Considering the lack of development, I'd guess some  
national park," she surmised. "It would make a certain   
amount of sense. Government owned lands could be a   
a convenient place to hide a federal research   
facility."  
  
Mulder looked at her sharply.  
  
"What?" Scully asked.  
  
"I'm not used to a normal person taking my shadow   
government conspiracies seriously. A militia nut   
might buy into it, but most rational people call me   
paranoid and crazy."  
  
Scully frowned and looked offended for him. "You may   
be overly enthusiastic, but you aren't crazy." She   
looked around them. "So do you buy the theory that   
our mystery men set up shop in a national forest?"   
  
Mulder didn't miss her saying 'our,' as if the two   
of them could possess something together, as if the   
search was shared. The question of who this woman   
could be was fast becoming his new obsession.   
Suddenly pain shot through Mulder's temple and he   
became aware of a faint buzzing noise.  
  
"Mulder, you need to sit down," Scully insisted.  
  
The buzzing grew louder until a helicopter passed   
overhead. Mulder caught Scully's hand and pulled   
her beneath the canopy of fir trees.   
  
"Looks like they discovered we skipped out without   
paying the bill," he muttered.  
  
Scully glanced in the direction they had hiked.   
"There can't be much distance between us and a   
search party. We haven't exactly made record   
time."  
  
"And we aren't about to begin to. We're going to   
have to lie low."  
  
"Where?"  
  
Another helicopter passed overhead. Pulling Scully  
deeper into the shadow of the trees, Mulder searched  
for a path of escape. "Somewhere out of sight of those."   
  
A third copter buzzed by.  
  
Scully pointed up the rock face. "Is that a cave?"   
  
In the deeply shadowed light it was hard to tell, but  
Mulder was willing to go on a hunch. He took Scully's   
hand, and abruptly changing direction, they headed up   
the mountain instead of down.   
  
He drawled, "Let's hope we're not disturbing Yogi and   
Boo-Boo."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
*****************************************************  
To know that what is impenetrable to us really exists,   
manifesting itself as the highest wisdom and the most  
radiant beauty, which our dull facilities can   
comprehend only in the most primitive forms--this   
knowledge, this feeling is at the center of true  
religiousness. In this sense, and in this sense only,  
I belong to the ranks of the devoutly religious...  
Albert Einstein  
******************************************************  
  
CHAPTER FOURTEEN  
  
Pisgah National Forrest   
9:53pm  
  
Scully sat on the flat, slightly damp stone floor of the   
cave as she watched beams of diffused light float in the   
darkness.   
  
"They're still searching," Mulder noted as he looked at   
the woods below them.   
  
Scully nodded. "They've been at it for hours."   
  
He leaned his head against the stone wall and closed  
his eyes. "So they get brownie points for persistence."   
  
Scully didn't answer but tried to focus on the lights   
in the fog only to find her own eyes drifting shut.   
When she felt her breathing become deep and even,   
Scully realized she was on the verge of falling asleep.   
Swiftly jerked herself to an erect sitting position,  
she glanced over her shoulder to see Mulder watching  
her through one open eye.   
  
"How long since you've slept?" he asked.   
  
"Months." Scully saw him frown and amended her   
statement, "I mean it feels like months. Actually,   
it's only been a couple of days."   
  
She had told the truth the first time. She hadn't   
had a good night's sleep since he had disappeared.  
  
"You need to rest." Mulder's voice was warm and   
soft and comforting. For a moment Scully almost   
believed she could rest.  
  
"I'm okay," she reassured. "You're the one who   
needs to lie down. You--"  
  
"Just had brain surgery."  
  
Scully glanced at him sheepishly. "Have I repeated   
it that many times?"  
  
He smiled. "I lost count at thirty-four."  
  
She crossed her arms. "So when are you going to   
follow my advice?"  
  
"Immediately after you follow it. Do you really  
need me to say 'physician, heal thyself?'"  
  
Scully tilted her head toward the glowing lights.   
"I'll follow my advice as soon as they leave."   
  
Mulder moved closer to her. "You know watching them   
search doesn't prevent them from finding us or make   
them go away any faster."  
  
"Perhaps. But I feel better standing guard."  
  
"Okay, then." He shook himself a little and sat   
up straight. "Seen any good movies lately?"  
  
"No."  
  
"What about television? Anything good on?"  
  
"It's summer re-runs."  
  
"Found any aliens?"  
  
"Not a one." After a heartbeat Scully turned to   
face him. "Mulder, we don't have to make small talk."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes, really."  
  
"Good. I suck at small talk."  
  
They sat in companionable silence for a very long   
time. They didn't say anything. Maybe they didn't   
need to say anything. Scully surreptitiously   
looked at Mulder. From the moment she had met him   
they had shared the ability to sit in silence without   
the silence being awkward. It wasn't that they   
lacked for things to say. They debated. They argued.   
They discussed, but they were able to sit side by   
side in perfect peace without a word passing   
between them. Silence felt comfortable and comforting.   
It felt safe...which was rare...which was very rare.  
  
X X X  
  
Pisgah National Forrest   
11:48pm  
  
Mulder watched Scully bring her knees up to her chest   
as lights swiveled and danced, illuminating the  
jagged outline of trees in the forest below the   
cave where they sat. The searchers moved away  
and the lights dimmed.  
  
As they plunged into total darkness Mulder asked,   
"Shouldn't we have knit caps and a handheld camera?"   
  
Scully frowned. Mulder couldn't see the frown, but   
he knew it was there.   
  
"Blair Witch pop-culture reference," he explained.   
"You know, weird sounds in the woods followed by   
impenetrable darkness." When she didn't answer Mulder   
added, "Okay, as pop references go, it's a couple of   
years out of date, but give me a break, I just had   
brain surgery."  
  
Now she smiled. He couldn't see the smile any more   
than he could the frown, but he knew the smile   
was there.  
  
A helicopter with blinding white lights buzzed by,   
momentarily silhouetting the ghostly skeleton of dead   
trees against a deep indigo sky. "What do you think   
caused that?" he asked, indicting the trees.  
  
Scully shrugged. "Insects. Acid rain. Forest fires.   
Who knows."  
  
"I read somewhere that it's a common problem in the   
Southern Appalachians, particularly above fifty-five   
hundred mark in the Black Mountains."  
  
Now he had Scully's attention. "You think that's where   
we are?" she asked.  
  
"From the time frame you gave, it sounds about right."   
Mulder winced and massaged his temple.  
  
"Don't." Scully gently caught his hand then stretched  
over him to check his bandage. "Are you in much pain?"   
  
"I have the headache to end all headaches, but it's  
manageable."  
  
"Go lie down. Get some rest."  
  
"You first."   
  
She didn't move.   
  
"Scully," he said softly. "The lights are moving down  
the hill. They aren't coming back."  
  
"They always come back," she said with the kind of   
resignation that made Mulder wonder how long Scully had   
been running from black helicopters. How long had   
she been peering into dark corners? Long enough to   
know the monsters that lived there were real.  
  
Mulder recognized Scully's complete emotional exhaustion   
even as he felt the determination that drove her. He   
shared it. It was in him, and it was in her. Somehow,   
fundamentally, they were the same. For so long his quest   
had been a lonely one. No one understood, not really,   
until now. But from the moment he had gazed into   
Scully's tired blue eyes it was as if he had never   
been alone, as if she had always walked by his side.   
  
Unbidden, Mulder remembered the visions he'd had in the   
hospital, memories of this woman taking his hand,  
of standing by his side in the midst of more nightmares   
than he cared to count. There were memories of her   
sacrifices, and of Scully earning his absolute trust.   
Memories that both were and were not real--as implausible   
as that description sounded.  
  
Mulder touched the bruise marring Scully's cheek.   
"That must hurt like a sonofabitch."  
  
"Only when you touch it."  
  
He drew his hand away.  
  
"That guy had a pretty hard left," Mulder sympathized.  
  
"I'll survive. And after you whacked him with the bone  
saw, I'm sure his headache is worse than yours."  
  
Mulder arched a brow. "You think that's possible?"   
  
"If there's justice in the world, it's possible."  
  
"That's the best thing I've heard all night." His  
eyes had grown accustomed to the dark so Mulder   
could make out the lines and curves of her face.   
"So... "  
  
She tilted her head to the side. "So?"  
  
"It was a conversational gambit."  
  
"No talking. You need sleep." Scully pulled away   
and stretched across the cave's floor. Mulder   
watched as she twisted one way then another. She   
looked uncomfortable.  
  
Mulder remained where he was. "I'm not sleepy." He   
wasn't sure if he said it because it was true or   
just to have her turn and glare at him. He waited   
patiently for her to say something, to say anything.   
She didn't, and for a moment Mulder thought Scully   
really had gone to sleep. He looked closly. No,   
even considering how exhausted she must be, Scully   
looked too uncomfortable to sleep.   
  
He pressed, "You never explained how I know you."  
  
The silence remained unbroken for a very long time.   
Finally Scully asked--and from the tone of her voice   
it was clear that she was reluctant to ask-- "DO   
you know me?"  
  
"Yes." It was that simple and that true...despite  
the fact that knowing her was impossible.  
  
"You're not him," Scully whispered in the darkness.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Mulder. You're not him. You're not real."  
  
"I'm just doing an amazingly lifelike impression   
of him? Come on, Scully, what you're saying doesn't   
make sense."  
  
Her voice sounded small and hesitant. "Don't ask me   
to make sense of this."  
  
"Just resign ourselves to confusion?"  
  
She turned over. "I can tell you what happened, but   
I can't make sense of it." And she explained how   
she had been assigned to investigate the   
disappearance of Steven Doerstling. She described   
her conversations with Mike Stilgoe, and her   
decision to venture into the CESR. Then Scully   
described finding herself in Georgetown Memorial's   
M.I.C.U. gazing at him.  
  
"You're saying you've fallen into an alternate   
universe," Mulder realized.  
  
"I didn't say that."  
  
"Yes, you did."  
  
"I never once said that," Scully snapped. "I said   
that I was investigating a case where a physicist   
theorized the existence of alternate universes."  
  
"And then you fell into one."  
  
"No." She shook her head. "That's impossible. Even   
if alternate universes do exist, a person couldn't   
fall into one."  
  
Mulder watched her carefully. "So what's your   
explanation for what's happening?"  
  
"I'm probably in the I.C.U. of some hospital in   
Ithaca. Odds are this is nothing more than a   
desperate dream."  
  
"Why would you be desperate to dream about me having   
a headache the size of Alaska? And if it's your dream,   
why am I the one with a headache? For that matter,   
why would I be in your dream at all?"  
  
"Because I'm desperate to find you," Scully confessed.   
  
That pulled him up short. Her words held the   
unmistakable ring of truth. Mulder blinked. "Why   
would you want to find me?"   
  
Her sad eyes moved over him. "Why wouldn't I? Do  
you have any idea how much I want to save you, to   
bring you back? This is nothing more than wish   
fulfillment."  
  
Mulder gazed at her doubtfully. "Exactly what wish   
are you fulfilling? A latent desire to see me   
lobotomized?"  
  
Scully's expression made Mulder feel like an ass for   
teasing about her. There was a world of pain in her   
eyes telling him that Scully was dead serious when   
she said she was desperate.   
  
"Mulder, when you disappeared, I wasn't there to   
save you. I can't help you. I can't find you. Now   
suddenly I can do all three? Don't you see? Your..."   
She took a deep breath. "Your abduction was connected   
to the anomalous brain activity you experienced last   
fall. It only makes sense that my desire to find you   
has become mixed up with my memories and your   
descriptions of your surgery. That would explain why   
I arrived at this point in time--"  
  
"Arrived," Mulder repeated. "You don't 'arrive' in a   
dream. This is real, Scully, and you know it."  
  
"No, it is a dream. It has to be. It's not even an   
unusual one. Do you have any idea how many times   
I've dreamed of having you back?"  
  
The fervor in her voice affected him. Her loyalty to   
him was astounding and unexpected and beyond anything   
Mulder had ever known. And despite what Scully was   
saying, it WAS real. "This isn't a dream, Scully. I'm   
here. I exist."  
  
"Then maybe I don't. Maybe I'm her. Maybe I'm Dana   
Waterston and not Special Agent Dana Scully."  
  
"Now you're grasping at straws."  
  
"I know things that Dana Waterston knows," Scully   
explained. "I'm aware of medical minutia outside   
of my specialty, but not outside of hers. Maybe she   
is the one who is real and Dana Scully is the dream."  
  
"Am I a man who dreamed he was a butterfly or a   
butterfly who dreamed he was a man?"  
  
Scully slanted a glance in his direction. "Don't be   
flippant."  
  
"I'm not being flippant. I'm trying to figure out why   
you would diagnose yourself as being schizophrenic   
rather than admit to an extreme possibility."  
  
"Mulder, this isn't paranormal."  
  
"No, it's science so why aren't you buying into it?   
Just say it, Scully. Say you've fallen into an   
alternate universe."  
  
She shook her head. "It's impossible."  
  
"Impossible? You can see it. You can touch it. It's   
all around you. How can you not believe your own   
eyes?"  
  
"Senses can lie. There are all kinds of hallucinogenic  
substances that--"  
  
"You can't do it, can you? Even with the evidence   
staring you in the face, you can't believe."  
  
Scully's eyes snapped with blue fire as she demanded,   
"Instead of passing judgments on what I choose to   
believe, you might ask yourself why you need to force   
me to believe as you do."   
  
"I don't--"  
  
She cut him off. "Why do you need me to agree with you?   
It's not my loyalty you want. You have that. And my   
agreeing with you wouldn't make your beliefs any more or   
less true. Beliefs are personal. Belief is faith, and   
faith can't be proven."  
  
"That's religion, not truth."  
  
"And truth is your religion."  
  
Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but Scully stopped him.   
"Don't mock faith, Mulder. You might not believe in   
religion, but you've always functioned on faith. Always.   
You couldn't martyr yourself to something you don't   
believe in, something you don't have faith in. And,   
damn you, you martyred yourself in this quest."  
  
"I'm not dead."  
  
"Aren't you? How the hell am I supposed to know?   
You got on a plane to Oregon and never came home!"   
Her voice broke, and she began to shake.  
  
"Scully..."  
  
"Damnit, Mulder, how could you? You dragged me into   
your mad crusade then walked away!" She angrily wiped   
away her tears. "Did you see the chance to find   
answers? Is that all it took? You left me behind,   
and don't give me that excuse that you didn't want to   
lose me. You lost yourself. It's the same thing in   
the end, and it's no more bearable...only I'm the   
one who has to bear it."  
  
"Scully, please--"   
  
"You son of a bitch, you ditched me."  
  
He dragged her into his arms but Scully struggled   
against him.   
  
"Let go." She pushed against his chest.   
  
"No."  
  
"Let go. Ditch me. It's what you do best."  
  
"No."  
  
"Damnit, Mulder!"  
  
He held her tightly and threaded his fingers though   
her hair, "I know I didn't mean to leave you," he   
said urgently. "I would never willingly do that."  
  
"Ha! You do it all the time."  
  
"But not like this."  
  
She stopped struggling.   
  
He held his breath. "Scully...?"  
  
"You never left me like this," she whispered. "This   
time you didn't come back."   
  
He cupped the back of her head and rocked her gently.   
"I'm sorry."  
  
Mulder felt a shudder pass through Scully as she buried   
her face against the crook of his neck. He felt   
her hot tears against his bare skin, but Scully never   
made a sound. Not a single cry. Her grief was terrible   
in its silence. There was no solace in her tears or in   
his embrace. There was only agony and silence.  
  
Helplessly he whispered, "I'm sorry."  
  
A single sob escaped her. Her arms wrapped tightly  
around him as her fingers clutched his shirt in  
tight fists. Mulder searched in vain for words of   
comfort, but what could he say that could compare to   
the eloquence of her tears. .. so he held her. His   
body wrapped protectively around hers, holding her   
close, keeping her warm. They clung to each other,   
providing anchors in a sea of loneliness and confusion.   
  
Scully gave a huge sigh that seemed to pass through her   
entire being before she fell limp against him. Silently   
Mulder urged her to let go over her superhuman self-  
control, to relax, to rest. Scully seemed so very   
tired--tired to the depths of her soul.   
  
"Rest," Mulder murmured as his hands moved over her   
back. He felt her breath against his throat growing   
soft and even. She didn't move but appeared content   
to stay locked in his arms. Mulder let the silky   
strands of her hair pass through his fingers.  
  
"You aren't him," Scully said into the darkness.  
  
"No, I'm not."  
  
"He's still missing and now so am I. This isn't   
home."  
  
"Just an incredible facsimile."  
  
Scully started to move away, but Mulder held her   
against the wall of his chest. She didn't struggle.   
It was as if Scully no longer had the energy or the   
strength.  
  
"You feel like him." She said with her palms pressed   
flat against his chest and her head resting on his   
shoulder. "You even smell like him. If I close my   
eyes tightly enough I can almost believe you are him,   
that you've come back...that this isn't a dream."  
  
"It isn't a dream, Scully," he insisted gently.  
  
"Maybe not, but you're still not him."   
  
Mulder pressed his lips against the top of her head.   
"Some part of me must be. Otherwise how can I feel   
what he feels? Know what he knows?"  
  
She lifted her head and gazed at him with tearful   
eyes. "Do you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"How can one being be two people?" she asked before  
giving a watery smile. "Other than garden variety  
schizophrenia, that is."  
  
"Light can be both a particle and a wave, right?  
Can't this be something similar?"  
  
"I don't see how."  
  
Mulder frowned as he concentrated. "Contradictions are   
part of the universe--or the multiverse as the case may   
be--and every action has an equal and opposite reaction--"  
  
"Don't talk science to me, Mulder, you're creeping   
me out."   
  
Without letting her go Mulder shifted their weight so   
that he could lean back against the wall of the cave.  
He closed his eyes. "Okay, what if I say that mystics   
have pondered the true meaning of consciousness since   
the human race wandered around in caves drawing on   
walls--and, yes, I'm aware that at the moment we're   
wandering around a cave but please note we aren't   
drawing on walls."  
  
"Your point being?"  
  
"My point being that maybe only a thin veil separates   
your world from mine. Maybe there are times when our   
realities are close enough to see or touch, or maybe   
even pass through. The Australian Aborigines believe   
in the Alchera/Tjurjunga--the dreamtime. Their myths   
describe people's spirits making journeys through the   
void."   
  
"As in someone's consciousness traveling to another   
universe?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"That might explain why I'm not me." Scully paused and   
looked dismayed by what she had just said. "I mean--"   
She stopped and shook her head. "This isn't my hair   
cut." She held out her hand and exposed a nearly   
invisible razor thin scar on her forearm. "I didn't   
have that. And there's no chip in my neck and...and   
there are other things."   
  
"Meaning even though you have Scully's memories, this is   
Dana Waterston's body?"  
  
"Yes."   
  
"So only your consciousness, your sentience went from   
one universe into another. What if whatever happened   
in the CESR completed some cosmic circuit creating  
a consciousness loop making it possible to be two   
people at the same time?"  
  
"So why would you be affected?" Scully asked. "You   
weren't in the accelerator."  
  
"Anomalous brain activity. If it was enough to read   
the thoughts of everyone around me, maybe it was enough   
to also reach through the veil." He opened his eyes.   
"The beach. The figure I saw on the beach. It was me."  
He paused. "That is, it was Mulder. Your Mulder.  
Maybe the connection was made there, in dreamtime."  
  
Scully sat up with an intent searching look on her   
face. "So you might really know what Mulder is   
thinking?"  
  
"Knew. Whatever was done to me in the operation   
quieted the voices, including his. I just remember   
everything I've experienced up until that point."  
  
"But you heard him thinking? He's alive?"  
  
"I'm Mulder too, you know."  
  
"Is HE alive?" she pressed urgently.  
  
Mulder cupped her cheek, his thumb resting along  
curve of her jaw. "Yes. He's alive"  
  
"Thank God." Scully closed her eyes as her forehead   
fell against his chest. "Thank you, God."   
  
X X X  
  
Syndicate Research Facility  
12:13am  
  
The surgeon entered the recovery room then rushed   
forward. "You shouldn't be sitting up."   
  
The Smoking Man eyed him with a cold stare. "Have   
our fugitives been found?   
  
"Your men are still looking."  
  
"Tell me, Doctor, how many acres of national   
forest are outside our door? Enough to conceal two   
people who don't want to be found?"  
  
"I'm sure your men are well-trained."  
  
"Oh yes, they're well trained but our fugitives   
have need on their side. Never underestimate   
desperation as motivation." He leaned back against   
the pillows and closed his eyes. "I miscalculated."  
  
The Smoking Man opened his eyes to see the surgeon   
looking at him questioningly. "I underestimated Dr.   
Waterston," he explained. "I knew she had a plan   
of action, but I thought to outmaneuver her. Now   
I find she can think on her feet. Mulder has   
acquired a formidable ally." The old man motioned   
for a nurse to fluff his pillow and straighten his   
sheets. Settling back against the cool, white   
linens he announced without inflection. "They  
both have to be eliminated."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
****************************************************  
Look and remember. Look upon the sky;  
Look deep and deep into the sea-clean air,  
The unconfined, the terminus of prayer.  
Speak now and speak into the hallowed dome.  
What do you hear? What does the sky reply?  
The heavens are taken; this is not your home.  
Karl Jay Shapiro  
"Travelogue for Exiles"  
*****************************************************  
  
CHAPTER FIFTEEN  
  
Pisgah National Forrest  
6:40am  
  
Scully came awake slowly. First she was aware that  
half of her body was freezing while the other half  
was comfortably warm. Then she felt the weight of   
something lying across her. Finally, her synapses   
began to fire, and Scully remembered that 'something'   
was Mulder.   
  
He was pressed against her back with his knees drawn   
up behind hers and his arm draped over her shoulder;   
hence the reason her back was warm and snug while her   
fingers and feet were freezing.  
  
Briefly Scully remembered the verbal tussle preceding  
their sleeping arrangements.  
  
Mulder had noticed, "You're shivering."   
  
"We're in the mountains. It's cold. I shiver.  
It's perfectly normal."   
  
"Is it normal to ignore the fact you're freezing?"   
  
It was at that moment Scully had realized Mulder would   
wrap his arm around her and settle himself against her   
back. He would surround her with his warmth and   
wordless comfort...and she would allow it. She longed   
for it. Mulder had held her in exactly the same way   
on their last night together in Oregon...which was   
why she should say no even as he moved toward her.  
Her memories were too painful to be resurrected.   
  
Scully had warned him, "Don't try the 'let's share body   
heat' excuse. I've heard it before."  
  
Mulder gazed at her with an all too innocent   
expression.  
  
"It isn't raining sleeping bags," she had snapped.  
  
"Is sleeping bag precipitation a common problem in   
your reality?" He had grinned.  
  
"It's a very rare phenomena," Scully said darkly.   
"Almost unheard of."  
  
"But not impossible," Mulder said as he settled against  
her. "Besides, what's the alternative? Hypothermia?"   
  
Scully had known she should push him away. For her own   
sanity she needed to keep this familiar stranger   
at a distance...The problem was she didn't want Mulder   
at a distance. Not this Mulder. Not any Mulder. She   
wanted to touch him and reassure herself that he was   
here. Scully knew that he wasn't her Mulder, and yet   
somehow he was...he most definitely was.  
  
Scully rubbed the bridge of her nose. Now she was the   
one with a headache. She was tired of trying to find   
explanations for the impossible. She was sick of trying   
to find order in chaos, of divining reason where there   
was none. She wanted to close her eyes and believe.   
Even if it was only for one short, deluded moment, she   
wanted to believe that everything would be okay;  
so when Mulder touched her, Scully hadn't pulled   
away. She had sighed and allowed her eyes to drift  
closed enjoying the feel Mulder's long fingers   
intertwined with hers. As Mulder squeezed her hand   
Scully let go, if only briefly, of her confusion and   
allowed herself to be lulled into peaceful slumber.  
  
Now it was morning. Sunlight was visible at the   
mouth of the cave. It was time to sit up, stand  
up, and face the day. Scully didn't want to.  
  
She felt Mulder shift behind her.  
  
"We should plan our strategy," Scully said still   
clinging, though no longer quite as desperately, to   
the rational side of her nature. "We aren't out of   
this yet."  
  
"What's there to plan?" he asked. "We leave the cave   
and avoid the bad guys."  
  
She started to move away. "So simple."  
  
"It is if you let it be." Mulder pulled her back   
against him. They lay in silence. Scully could hear   
the sound of his breathing. It was so steady and   
reassuring, so utterly and infuriatingly calm.   
  
"Mulder, don't you ever plan for the future?" she  
asked quietly as she glanced at him over her  
shoulder.  
  
His eyes remained closed. "I don't think about it."  
  
"Never thinking about the future is the same thing as   
not planning for it."  
  
Mulder rolled onto his back. "Okay, I don't plan much   
for the future."  
  
"Why?" She leaned over him, bracing her arms on either   
side of him. Only inches separated their mouths. "I've   
been thinking about this a lot lately. Ever since--"   
Scully stopped abruptly as Mulder brushed a strand of   
hair away from her face.  
  
Scully was momentarily distracted, but determinedly   
pulled herself back to the point she was trying to   
make. "At some point after you disappeared I realized   
we've never been very interested in the future."  
Her gaze locked with his. "Knowing what we know,   
isn't that strange? You would think we'd be obsessed   
with it. Instead we only seem to look to the past."   
  
When it looked like Mulder would protest Scully added,  
"Think about it. What are the questions we ask until   
we're so sick of them that no answer would be enough   
to satisfy us? What happened to your sister? Who took   
me and put the chip in my neck? Who killed your father?   
Who killed my sister? All of it is in the past. If the   
answers were handed to us tomorrow, it wouldn't change   
a thing."   
  
Uncertainty almost overwhelmed her. "What if we've been   
asking the wrong questions? What if we've been fighting   
the wrong fight?"  
  
Mulder's dark eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"  
  
"We've spent so much time fighting the future, that  
we never stopped to wonder if we should fight FOR it.  
Why is that?"   
  
A frown creased the area between his eyebrows. "Well,   
there's always the old cliché about ignoring the past   
and being doomed to repeat it."  
  
"There's also a cliché about beating dead horses."   
Scully sat up. "I just don't know if there are   
enough answers for all of our questions. Maybe at   
some point we have to say enough is enough and stop   
looking to the past." Scully touched her flat stomach,   
her depressingly flat stomach. "At some point shouldn't   
we start looking to the future? If we had done that   
I--" She stopped, frowned, and quickly turned away.  
  
Mulder touched her shoulder and waited for her to  
turn to face him. "If we had done that, what?"  
  
"I wouldn't have lost you."   
  
X X X  
  
Glenwood Cemetery  
Washington, DC   
10:13am  
  
Dana Waterston had driven down Lincoln Drive three   
times. The first time she had told herself she had  
only intended to drive by the cemetery. The second   
time Daba had resolved to see Daniel's grave, only at   
the last moment to decide against it and drive away.   
Finally, on the third try Dana crossed the grass   
reading the names on tombstones as she went.  
  
She pulled at her shirt collar. It was impossible to  
ignore the rising heat of the late summer day. With   
Scully's endless collection of black clothing Dana felt   
a bit like she had slipped into an oven set on broil.   
There was a bead of sweat rolling down her spine when   
she finally found the grave she was searching for.   
  
Waterston was emblazoned across granite. She stared at   
the headstone in dazed disbelief. The man who had   
never been Dana Scully's husband lay six feet below the   
earth. Dana knelt to lay lilies on his grave and   
wondered what she was supposed to feel.   
  
What was the rational response for a situation like   
this? For that matter, what was the irrational response?   
Miss Manners had never written the appropriate etiquette   
for such patently bizarre circumstances. Exactly what   
should she be feeling? What should she do? There were   
so many ways to react, so many ways to feel.  
  
"I never loved you." Dana was shocked at the words   
that came out of her mouth...but they felt true.   
  
"I was infatuated once," she confessed. "You were   
fascinating. You had such control. I envied that.   
I wanted that. I always wanted control."   
  
Somehow she found herself sitting on the grass. It  
might stain Scully's suit, but Dana found she didn't  
care as a sense of self awareness began to overtake   
her. "I was fourteen when Charlie decided that he   
wanted to buy a motorcycle. Dad didn't want to hear   
anything about it, but Charlie wouldn't give up.   
He took a job as a bagboy at the supermarket. He sold   
magazine subscriptions." Dana smiled. "He was   
determined, and in the end he did it. It was old and   
beaten up, but it was his. He was so proud."   
  
Her smile disappeared. "Then Dad found out about the  
bike and took it away. He said it was dangerous and   
irresponsible. Dad sold it and said how disappointed   
he was in Charlie." Dana noticed that she was   
fingering the delicate yellow petals of the lilies,   
bruising their soft buttery color. She pulled her   
hands away. "My father was an admirable man, and I   
loved him. I never wanted to disappoint him. I   
never wanted him to look at me the way that he looked   
at Charlie. So I had to keep myself under control.   
I had to follow the rules. I was taught to admire   
order and control."  
  
Dana looked up at the way light filtered through the   
leaves of the cherry trees shading this corner of the   
cemetery.   
  
"I never rebelled," she admitted. "At least not much,   
not in public...not like Charlie." Dana smiled   
ruefully. "Not even like Scully. At least she followed   
her own path and joined the FBI. I, on the other hand,   
followed my infatuation with control all the way to   
you."  
  
She laid her hand on the vibrantly green grass. "But   
I never loved you."  
  
Dana rose to her feet. "I realize that now. In   
fact, I realize a lot of things. Charlie wasn't   
irresponsible. Look at what he did to earn that   
bike. He worked his ass off, and before Dad came   
home Charlie took me for a ride. I loved it. I   
loved every minute of it. I loved the freedom,   
the wildness, even that thrill of danger. It was   
exhilarating."   
  
Dana looked at her hands clasped together so tightly   
it turned her knuckles white. She deliberately   
relaxed her grip and stretched her fingers. "For a   
long time, I've denied that part of myself. I chose   
control over everything, even my own spirit."  
  
She stepped back from the grave. "I chose wrong.   
That's the difference between what I'm feeling, and   
what Scully feels about losing Mulder. Control is an  
illusion. What's between Mulder and Scully is real.   
It's visceral and constant and true. It's right. If   
there is any sort of reason why this has happened to   
me, I think it's to show me that I don't belong with   
you, Daniel. I never did, and finally I'm strong   
enough to face that."  
  
She turned and walked away.  
  
X X X  
  
Pisgah National Forest  
The Black Mountains, North Carolina  
10:45 am  
  
Mulder stood reading a marker. "Bee Tree Gap." He   
looked at Scully. "Should we take that as a sign?"  
  
"I'd rather take the sign pointing us toward the trail   
leading to the visitor's center. They probably have  
toilets."  
  
He looked at the glyphs on the sign. "And a picnic   
area. Good. I missed breakfast."  
  
Scully gave him a look that said he was straining her   
patience. So Mulder decided not to add how intrigued   
he was that the sign also told them they were in the   
Pisgah forest. If he believed in omens Mulder might find   
significance in the fact that Pisgah was the name of   
the place where after wandering the wilderness for   
nearly 40 years, Moses finally saw the promised land.  
  
Mulder looked at Scully. What a strange, contradictory   
creature she was. She seemed to have such fierce   
loyalty and affection for him and yet she also seemed to   
consider him to be her personal cross to bear. She   
sought out the irrational and then insisted on applying   
logic to it. She could believe one moment and deny it   
the next. She was an enigma and Mulder was damn glad   
he had found her.  
  
"So what are we going to do when we reach that road   
below us?" Mulder asked. "Hitch a ride?"  
  
"Something like that if we're lucky."  
  
They slowly made their way down the steeply sloping   
trail while also keeping an eye on what was behind   
them. They may have found a way to hide in the   
forest, but they hadn't found safety. Though there   
was no sign of the searchers who had scoured the forest   
last night, Scully and Mulder had agreed it was highly   
unlikely that CSM's men would just give up.  
  
Mulder reached the road first, but Scully was only a few  
steps behind him. It was at least another mile to   
the visitor's center. "I hope that visitor's center has   
a hot shower and a Denny's," he muttered.  
  
She grimaced. "Can't you do better than Denny's?"  
  
"IHOP then."  
  
Scully grumbled something about a bran muffin and   
fresh honeydew melon. The idea didn't seem so great   
to Mulder. He was thinking more along the lines of   
a grand slam cholesterol fix. Just three quarters of   
a mile to go. Then he heard something. "Car," Mulder   
warned.  
  
"Shouldn't we hide or something?"  
  
He shrugged. "I was thinking more along the lines of   
hitching a ride. I'm too tired and filthy to think   
about hiding."  
  
Scully didn't argue, that must mean she felt the same   
way. A car came around the bend. No, actually it was   
an ancient, battered VW van. In fact Mulder could  
almost swear it was. . .   
  
"You two look like hell," Frohike announced as the van   
came to a stop.   
  
Mulder shook his head. He must be hallucinating. "What   
the--"  
  
Langly jumped out of the van and demanded, "Are you   
two going to just stand there?"  
  
Scully nudged Mulder, and he started across the road.   
Then it struck him that Scully didn't seem surprised   
to see the Gunmen. As a matter of fact, now that   
Mulder thought about it, the Gunmen didn't seem   
surprised to see Scully either.  
  
"What's going on here?" Mulder asked as he climbed   
into the van. "And where's Byers?"  
  
"He's waiting at the visitor's center with a rental   
car," Langly explained as he threw a duffle bag at  
Mulder. "Frohike and I have been up and down this   
stretch of road half a dozen times in the last hour   
looking for you."  
  
Mulder unzipped the duffle bag. "How did you know   
where to search for us?"  
  
"GPS tracking device," Scully explained as she   
took a seat next to him and buckled her seatbelt.  
  
With a nonplussed look Mulder asked, "What tracking   
device?"  
  
Frohike snickered as he put the van into gear. "The   
one in her bra."  
  
Mulder's eyes widened in a look of amazement.  
  
Langly was riding shotgun, but turned in his  
seat to look at Mulder and Scully. "Oh yeah,   
we've had a bead on you two from the beginning, but  
we couldn't get close to you until now. Rangers wouldn't  
allow us on the back roads but they couldn't keep us  
off the public one. We've been up and down this  
pain in the ass until we know each and every pothole   
by heart. Nice hat, Mulder."  
  
Mulder self consciously touched the dirty white   
bandage wrapped around his head..  
  
Langly added, "And that's quite a shiner, Scully."  
  
Mulder almost smiled when Scully touched her bruised   
cheek and looked as self conscious as he felt. Mulder  
said, "The guy who gave her that shiner probably   
looks much worse than she does this morning, and is  
walking crooked to boot."  
  
Frohike glanced over his shoulder. "Oh yeah?"  
  
"Eyes on road, Frohike," Mulder warned.  
  
Looking toward the duffle bag in Mulder's hands, Langly  
told Scully, "Everything we talked about is in   
there--passports, credit cards, bank book. Everything   
you need to go totally MIA."  
  
"Guns," Mulder noticed as Scully removed a Sig Saur P226   
9mm pistol from the duffle bag. He arched a brow. "Any   
other surprises in there?"  
  
Scully handed him a 9mm Beretta.   
  
"Thanks." Mulder tested the weapon's weight in his   
hand, then checked the clip. Rummaging through the   
bag he found six additional magazines of ammo, a pair   
of Maglight rechargeable flashlights, two cell phones,   
two Swiss pocket knives, and a pair of handcuffs. He   
glanced at Scully.   
  
"What?" She looked defensive. "I liked to be prepared."  
  
"So I see." He returned to inspecting the contents of  
the bag. "Hannibal and all his elephants didn't pack   
this much gear to cross the Alps."   
  
She zipped the duffle bag. "Hannibal and his elephants  
are a couple of millennia out of date."  
  
This was certainly a woman who believed in planning   
ahead. Mulder caught Frohike's gaze in the rear view   
mirror. "Where are we meeting Byers?" Mulder asked.  
  
"At the picnic grounds."  
  
Langly tossed a map to Mulder. "Those are the   
directions to a safe house near Cape Lookout. Pirates   
used to hide there during the 1700s. It should hide you   
too."  
  
"A friend of mine made a killing with a dot com,"   
Frohike answered Mulder's unspoken question. "He has a   
summer place on the Banks. I told him I needed a   
vacation so not even he knows that you two are there."  
  
Mulder glanced at Scully. "Sounds like you made   
kickass vacation plans without telling me."  
  
He thought he saw a sparkle in Scully's eyes as   
she said dryly, "You were difficult to reach at the   
time."  
  
The van came to a halt. "Here we are," Frohike   
announced. "Hey, who's that with Byers?"  
  
"Shit," Langly said in a low hiss as a stranger   
out from behind Byers. The bastard had a gun held  
to Byer's temple.  
  
"Hit the deck," Mulder ordered.   
  
He didn't have to say it twice.   
  
Once on the floorboard they all looked at each   
other. "That's the guy who gave Scully the   
shiner," Mudler explained.  
  
The VW's floorboard was littered with empty beer   
bottles and Cheetos bags which Scully gingerly  
pushed to the side before reaching to straighten  
Frohike's glasses. Frohike smiled.  
  
I think Frohike's in love, Mulder mused.  
  
"Now what?" Langly asked.   
  
Mulder reached up to the seat and dragged  
the duffle bag to the floor. He opened it  
and began searching for the guns.  
  
"You know what I want," the hitman called  
from outside. "Get out of the van."  
  
Scully's expressive blue eyes met Mulder's, and   
he searched his suddenly blank mind for something   
to say. Something meaningful. The kind of thing   
the hero always said before he went to the shoot-out   
in the O.K. Corral. Unfortunately the only words   
wandering around his heard were R-rated expletives.  
  
"Mulder's hurt," Scully called in a voice far too   
large for her small body. "He began hemorrhaging   
right after we left the research facility. I can't   
move him."  
  
"What the hell?" Frohike asked under his breath.  
  
The hitman insisted, "You get out then."  
  
Mulder grabbed Scully's hand as Frohike cried "No!"  
  
"Look," Scully said calmly. "It's not Byers they want."  
  
"No, it's the two of us." Mulder's gaze narrowed. "I   
can't let you take this kind of risk."  
  
"It isn't your choice."  
  
"Let me do it," he insisted.  
  
She gave a ghost of a smile. "I already told him   
you're injured."  
  
"Scully--"  
  
"You can't stop me this time, Mulder. Not so long   
ago I did what you wanted. I stayed behind. I've  
regretted it ever since."  
  
"At least you lived to regret it. I'd like the   
same result this time."  
  
She handed Mulder the Baretta. "That's going to   
depend on you."  
  
"This is dangerous," he growled as he checked  
the ammunition.  
  
"I know." Again Scully's expression lightened  
with what could almost be called a smile. "Look   
at it this way, for once you have my full   
permission to protect me."  
  
Mulder looked at the gun in his hand and then up   
at the woman whose small form held the heart of   
a lioness. "There won't be much time," he warned.  
  
"Almost none."  
  
"Seconds."  
  
Her gaze held his. "Mulder?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"I believe in you." With those words she opened the   
van door.   
  
Scully gazed at Mulder for just a moment. Her skin was   
pale and translucent in the morning sunlight. Mulder   
wanted to reach out and haul her back into the   
van, back into safety. There was a pain in his chest,  
as if an unseen hand had grabbed him and was sqeezing the   
last drop of blood out of him. He hurt, and he didn't   
need to be told that he hurt because of her.   
Mulder didn't want was to lose her.  
  
"Scully..."  
  
Her foot hit the ground and it was as if time slowed   
down as Scully stepped from the van. Every moment  
seemed to stretch like those in a car accident when  
you could see the crash coming but could do nothing  
about it. Every second stretched into an eternity.  
  
Mulder saw the determination in Scully's eyes as she   
pulled away. He watched the way a single strand of   
her hair fell into her face as Scully straightened   
her spine and stood her ground. He saw the hitman   
shove Byers to the side, dragging the gun away from   
Byers' temple and aiming it directly at Scully.  
  
There wasn't time to think, just react.   
  
Mulder raised his gun and fired. And with the sound   
still ringing in his ears Mulder saw Scully fall to   
the ground.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
******************************************************  
It is only with the heart that one can see rightly;  
what is essential is invisible to the eye. . .   
Antoine de Saint-Exupery  
"The Little Prince"   
******************************************************  
  
  
CHAPTER SIXTEEN  
  
Cape Lookout, North Carolina  
5:14am  
  
It was funny but Mulder had never before noticed how   
similar dawn was to dusk. Light streaked the clouds   
in various warm hued pastels even though half the sky   
remained dark. It was a precarious balance that would   
last only moments, but Mulder found himself wishing the   
twilight would linger just a little longer...which was   
curious for him. Usually it was the darkness that   
inspired his imagination.   
  
Seagulls cried overhead, and as Mulder turned to watch   
their flight, his attention was caught by the beacon   
in the distance. It was the Cape Lookout Lighthouse   
which had stood vigil over the coast for over a hundred   
years. It rose above the dunes and the sea grasses in   
picturesque isolation.  
  
Mulder sat alone on the beach contemplating all that   
had happened. So much had changed and had changed him.   
Mulder knew he should consider what 'they' had done   
to him and why, but somehow the questions seemed   
less important than searching his mind for   
memories of Scully.  
  
Mulder had always been alone. And then suddenly he   
wasn't. And now?  
  
"You've never been an early riser," Scully said.   
  
Mulder turned to watch her approach across the sand.   
  
"Have you slept?" she asked.  
  
"I've slept." They had spent the night at the   
'safe house' Frohike had arranged for them on   
the Outer Banks.  
  
Scully wrapped her windbreaker more tightly around  
herself. "You slept well and yet turn up on the beach   
at the crack of dawn? Why am I not buying this?"  
  
"I never said I slept 'well.'"  
  
Mulder stretched his legs in front of him and waited  
for Scully to sit. When she did, she curled her arms   
around her knees and joined him in watching the horizon.   
  
"What are you doing out here?" she asked softly.  
  
"Thinking about the future."  
  
"Found any answers?"  
  
He gave a half smile. "So far I'm stymied by the fact  
that I can't find a way to talk about changing the   
world without sounding like a hippie."   
  
Scully smiled. "Now that's a question for the sages."  
  
Damn, he was glad she was here. The memory of Scully   
hitting the ground outside the Lone Gunmen's van would   
remain seared into Mulder's brain forever. He hadn't   
even paused to check whether his shot had found its   
mark before bailing out of the VW to go to her side.   
As Mulder had felt for Scully's pulse, Byers had   
stumbled toward the van. Looking up, Mulder had seen   
the assassin laying in an ever-growing pool of blood.  
  
Then Mulder had felt movement at his side and turned   
to find Scully gazing at him with an amazingly calm   
expression. She had shown not one sign that her near   
death experience had disturbed her in the least. In   
fact she had sat up and matter of factly dusted off   
her clothes. "I thought it was best to give him as   
small a target as possible," Scully had explained.  
  
Mulder hadn't been sure whether to hug her or shake her  
until her teeth rattled. Instead of either option he  
chose to give what he thought she most deserved--respect.   
Then Mulder blew the moment by saying dryly, "Well, you   
ARE short."  
  
Scully had nudged him. "I meant falling to the ground."  
  
"Oh, yeah." Mulder had stood and offered her his hand.   
"I knew that."  
  
Okay, so he had been full of shit. The bravado act was   
to cover the fact that this incident would revisit him   
in sweat-drenched nightmares for years to come. He had   
nearly lost her. Mulder couldn't forget that as he   
watched the sun rise over the water, so he blindly took   
Scully's hand. She didn't say anything, just laced her   
fingers with his.   
  
The sun was considerably higher in the sky when to his   
own surprise Mulder said into the silence, "They're   
coming, you know."  
  
She didn't ask who. "I know."  
  
"They have to be fought."  
  
"I know that too."  
  
He looked down at their clasped hands. "Are we going   
to be fighting alone?"  
  
Scully tilted her head. "Meaning you here and me...  
wherever I'll be?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"The answer is yes." It was that simple, succinct,  
and painful. She pulled away, and Mulder watched as   
Scully studied the way sand slipped through her   
fingers.   
  
"I won't be here," she announced quietly.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Fairly sure." Now Scully looked at him. "She'll be   
here."  
  
"Dana Waterston."  
  
Scully nodded. "I have more of her memories every   
minute. I've even begun to 'remember' what she's   
done in my life since I've been here. She and Dr.   
Doerstling have developed sort of a consciousness   
rubber band theory."  
  
There was a sinking feeling in his gut and Mulder  
intuitively knew what she was trying to explain.   
"You'll be snapped back to your own life." It   
wasn't a question.  
  
"In theory." Scully stood and walked to the water's   
edge. Mulder didn't follow, but he contented himself   
with watching her back.   
  
Finally he couldn't stop himself. He had to say it.   
"Stay."  
  
  
X X X  
  
He doesn't know, Scully reminded herself. He doesn't   
know how profound or cataclysmic a single word can be--  
a word like 'missing' or 'pregnant'...or 'stay.'   
  
A single word could change your whole life. It had   
changed hers. She and Mulder had sat on his sofa   
discussing her experiences at the Buddhist temple   
while he was in England searching for crop circles.   
  
Scully remembered Mulder asking, "How many different   
lives would we be leading if we made different choices?   
We don't know."  
  
"But what if there was only one choice?" she had   
countered. "And all the other ones were wrong, and   
there were signs along the way to pay attention to?"  
  
The last thing she remembered was Mulder saying, "All   
the choices would then lead to this very moment.   
One wrong turn and we wouldn't be sitting here   
together. . ."  
  
Later Scully had discovered that she'd fallen asleep  
on the sofa and that Mulder had covered her with a   
blanket. The clock on the VCR flashed twelve but that   
gave her no clue about what time it really was.   
  
She had started to rise then noticed Mulder standing   
silhouetted in the doorway, his back against the light.   
He'd had a towel slung low across his hips as if he   
had just stepped out of the shower, and he held a   
toothbrush in his hand. Mulder had said, "It's late."  
  
"Too late?"   
  
Something had flickered in his eyes before he shrugged.   
"I don't know. You've driven over here in the middle of   
the night more times than I can count. I suppose you   
can drive home the same way now. There's nothing to   
stop you."  
  
"Do you want me to go?"  
  
He'd looked surprised by the question.  
  
Mortification washed over her. Scully jumped to her  
feet and began looking for her shoes. "I shouldn't   
have said that. I shouldn't--" She glanced at him  
anxiously. "Forget I said that.   
  
Scully was half way to the door before Mulder said,   
"Stay."  
  
She didn't look at him. She was afraid to look at him.   
She felt stupid and awkward and the only thing she   
could think to say was, "What?"  
  
"Stay."  
  
She wanted to. The desire had been there before, but   
now it felt like compulsion. "I should go." She  
breathed into the silence. "This would change   
things."  
  
Mulder shrugged. It seemed like such a nonchalant   
gesture, but there was nothing casual in his eyes.   
"Things change."   
  
And there it was. A moment. A path. A choice. Go   
forward into the future or stand where she was, staring   
at a door, reluctant to walk though it but afraid to   
stay where she was.   
  
Scully looked at Mulder, at his thoughtful, searching   
gaze. There was tension in him. There was a hint of   
uncertainty as he watched her. Oh, he tried to look   
confident and unconcerned. He tried to look as if he   
was in control. If she denied him, Mulder would laugh   
and pretend that this was just one more innuendo in a   
string of many. But Scully knew him too well. There was   
something in the way he fixed his jaw and held his   
shoulders. He was serious. He was waiting for her   
answer.   
  
God, why was it so difficult? What held her back?   
This was Mulder, the man whose face she had seen almost   
daily for nearly eight years. There was almost nothing   
she didn't know about him or he about her. It wasn't   
even like they'd never had sex. The night he had come   
to terms with his sister's death they had sat holding   
each other until the embrace had turned into something   
different--something heartfelt and warm and giving.   
Something they had both desperately needed.   
  
The next morning in silent agreement, they hadn't talked   
about what had happened. They had stepped back into   
their normal roles in each other's lives. It wasn't that   
what had happened had been a mistake. It had felt too   
right to ever be called a mistake. No, they had pulled   
away because they had both known that to acknowledge   
what had happened would be to change things. Forever.  
  
That was what held Scully back as she stood halfway to   
the door. This wasn't a moment shaded with loss or grief   
or desperate need. This was the silence of the night.   
Stillness surrounded them and the only sound to be   
heard was that of their own breathing. Nothing pushed  
or pulled them to make a decision or a choice. Nothing   
but themselves.  
  
Scully looked at Mulder. At the way he held himself   
motionless, as if he knew that to move would be  
to make this moment slip away, and it was a very   
important moment.  
  
Stay or go?  
  
But why go when she would only return here tomorrow?   
She always did. Scully returned time after time.   
She'd had a million opportunities to walk away,  
but she never did. Scully could have gone anywhere   
tonight, or countless days and nights before it, but   
she had chosen to be here...with Mulder...where she   
would always choose to be.  
  
Scully blinked. How strange to realize that the most   
momentous decision of her life had been made so long   
ago that she couldn't remember when. Which was the   
the moment when she'd looked into his face and seen  
more than a partner, more than a friend? Which was  
touch of their hands that had started to mean more than   
comfort or understanding? Did it matter? Or was all  
that mattered was that it existed now?  
  
Some things only became clear in hindsight. Scully   
couldn't pinpoint exactly when she had turned her   
back on any life save this one, but now she knew it   
didn't matter. It was as inconsequential as trying   
to pinpoint the exact moment when a child was   
conceived. All that mattered was that something   
extraordinary had been brought into existence.   
  
Scully smiled at Mulder. Would it be enough? Please,   
let it be enough because if she had to find the   
words to describe how she felt, she would only   
garble them. Words could not equal her emotions.  
  
Moments passed, and Scully saw the tension ease in   
Mulder's shoulders. A relaxed expression crossed his   
face. Scully gazed into his familiar eyes and saw all   
the understanding she would ever want or need.   
  
Mulder reached his hand out to her, and Scully   
took it. She felt the warmth of his palm pressed   
against her own as he pulled her near. She felt his   
breath across her face, and the gentle pressure of   
his hand at the small of her back. And without a   
single word, her decision was understood   
by them both.  
  
She stayed.  
  
Mulder, this Mulder, brought Scully crashing back  
to the present as he stood and crossed the sand.  
"We can fight this," he told her. "You don't have   
to go."  
  
"I don't have a choice. I can feel it."  
  
"But do you know it? Do you know without a shadow  
of a doubt that this can't be fought?"   
  
Scully shook her head, but it wasn't a denial. It was  
only an expression of internal confusion. "Dana   
figured it out with Dr. Doerstling," she explained.   
"The switch between us was like a note being played,   
and now the vibration is fading. The very fact that   
I know this means that with every moment that passes   
more of her is here. What I knew of her before   
was long term memory. This was recent. My time here   
is almost up."  
  
"Fight it. Damnit, Scully, what's there to go back   
to? A lone crusade?"  
  
She lifted her chin. "Someone has to fight the   
monsters."  
  
"Alone?" Mulder demanded. "Is that what we're reduced   
to? Fighting the 'good' fight but always alone?" Mulder   
seemed unaware of the way he began to shift and move   
as if there was more energy in him than he could   
contain. "Stay, Scully, and we'll fight the monsters   
together."  
  
She gave him a watery smile. "Side by side."  
  
"Marching forward one cursed step at a time."  
  
Her smile died as Scully pulled away. "We have to   
think of the future."  
  
"Funny, I thought that was what I was doing."  
  
"No, I..." She lifted her hands helplessly. "I'm   
thinking of a different future."  
  
"Yours and his?" Mulder said that like he thought  
her Mulder was an entirely different person. Then  
again wasn't that the way she had always referred  
to Dana Waterston? "He isn't there, you know," this  
Mulder pointed out with brutal honesty.  
  
"I know." And the knowledge hurt. If she returned   
home, Mulder would be lost to her...again. Standing   
in the vibrancy of his presence it was possible to   
keep the loneliness at bay. Her grief, though still   
very real, seemed like little more than a figment   
of her imagination. This Mulder was real, and he was   
standing beside her. If she returned home, she would   
be alone. This could be the end.  
  
Mulder approached her. Scully turned her head and  
held up her hand as if that would hold him back. It   
didn't. He gently swept his fingertips over her temple.  
  
"Please," Scully said out loud while inside she pleaded,   
please, don't ask me to stay...and please don't let   
me go. It was a contradiction, but then her entire life  
was a contradiction. Science and faith. Skepticism   
and belief. Contradiction was her nature...and   
Mulder's. God knows, Mulder was a contradiction.  
  
The heat of unshed tears burned her eyes. "Mulder..."  
  
He kissed her.   
  
Surprise rocketed through her, but as Scully felt   
Mulder's lips pressed against her own, she relaxed.   
Their mouths met, melded, then released only to meet   
again...and again...to taste, to touch, to cling.   
To break apart and to reunite.  
  
Scully's hand moved over Mulder's shoulder. His hand  
smoothed over her back. She pressed herself against   
him, and he answered by holding her closer still.   
When Mulder lifted his mouth just a few inches above   
her own, Scully found that the limits of her vision   
was Mulder's face, and that his face was all that she   
needed or wanted to see.  
  
"I have to go," she whispered and hated herself   
for doing so. "There's no choice in this."  
  
Mulder threaded his fingers through her hair.   
"I want to say there is a choice."   
  
"But there isn't."  
  
"There are still questions to be answered," he told  
her. "The future to think of."  
  
Scully confessed, "The future I'm thinking of isn't   
ours, Mulder. It's our child's."  
  
Mulder stopped breathing. He pulled back  
and looked at her. There was no way to describe   
the way he looked at her. A lifetime of loneliness   
and searching and pain shadowed his eyes, mixing  
with something else. Joy? Satisfaction? Bemusement?  
All those things and more must shadow her own gaze   
as well.   
  
Mulder pulled Scully against him. His arms enveloped   
her, holding her tightly. So very tightly. She held   
him too.   
  
He placed an exquisitely tender kiss on her forehead  
as they stood being battered by the wind kicked up   
by the surf. They stood against it unbending and   
unbreaking.   
  
At last Mulder said, "So you have to go."  
  
Scully nodded because she couldn't speak.  
  
"It'll be okay," he promised. "Do you believe  
that?"  
  
Swallowing hard, Scully managed to say, "There's no   
acceptable alternative."  
  
He smiled as he cupped Scully's face between both his   
hands. With his thumbs he gently brushed away her   
tears. They stared at each other for a wordless   
moment before Mulder kissed her one last time. It   
was an infinitely gentle benediction.   
  
Scully sighed and rested her cheek against his   
shoulder. And reminded herself to breathe as the   
sun rose over the ocean and seagulls cried overhead.  
  
This wasn't the end.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
****************************************************  
"Skepticism is the chastity of the intellect, and  
it is shameful to surrender it too soon or to the  
first comer: there is nobility in preserving it  
coolly and proudly through long youth, until at last,  
in the ripeness of instinct and discretion, it  
can safely be exchanged for fidelity and happiness."  
George Santayana  
Skepticism and Animal Faith IX  
****************************************************  
  
  
EPILOGUE  
  
  
Dana Scully's Residence  
Georgetown  
Washington, D.C.  
6:45am  
  
  
Scully slammed her hand over the snooze button   
of her alarm clock, abruptly cutting off the music.   
She didn't move. She didn't open her eyes. She   
waited--and prayed--for her nausea to pass. Maybe  
if she laid there long enough...  
  
No. It was hopeless. A few minutes after running  
into the bathroom she walked out with a towel in  
her hand. Absently dropping it on the floor as she  
climbed back into bed. Then she stopped dead in her  
tracks.   
  
Scully blinked and looked around herself.  
  
It was her bedroom looking exactly as her bedroom  
had always looked. Nothing was different. Nothing.  
Her hand drifted down to her stomach. Her baby.  
She had her baby. She closed her eyes and took  
a deep, contented breath...then doubts began  
to creep in. Had it all been a dream?  
  
She had told Mulder that it was entirely likely  
that everything she had experienced was just  
wish fulfillment. As Scully sat in her own  
tangled sheets looking at the familiar curve  
of her own headboard she had to admit that the  
dream theory made far more sense than any  
"alternate universe." It was beyond belief that  
a human being could fall into a parallel world,   
much less do so unharmed. Then to return to her   
old life in the blink of an eye? Impossible.  
  
Scully looked at her relentlessly familiar   
surroundings. She gazed at herself in the mirror   
hanging over her dresser. Nothing had changed.  
There was not one anomaly she could point to   
that supported the idea that somehow she had  
defied the laws of logic to experience something  
that had never been definitively proven to exist.  
  
How could anyone believe in something so extreme?  
  
Scully did.   
  
She lay back against her pillows with her hand   
resting on her stomach, intently aware of the tiny   
life that dwelled there. She gazed out her window   
and almost laughed at her epiphany. "I believe,"  
she said out loud, and Scully was amazed at how  
good it felt to finally admit it. Then, more   
solemnly she whispered again, "Mulder, I DO   
believe."   
  
X X X  
  
Cape Lookout, North Carolina  
7:14am   
  
Dana Waterston sat with her toes digging into the  
sand as she studied the brooding expression   
of Special Agent Fox Mulder, a man who should  
be a stranger to her but wasn't. A man she had  
only met once in the emergency room. A man  
for whom she had shed countless tears as she  
sat in another woman's apartment.  
  
Mulder looked over his shoulder at her. "I've  
been thinking. . . "  
  
She looked at him expectantly.  
  
He turned and approached her then crouched  
to meet her eye to eye. "About that evolutionary  
universe theory of Dr. Doerstling's, is it me or   
does it bear some similarity to the idea of a   
Platonic Ideal?"  
  
Dana frowned and searched her memory. She had  
only read Plato in college, but from what she  
remembered Plato had said something along the lines   
that somewhere there existed a universal ideal, a   
template, and everything else simply imitated or  
reflected what truly existed in an ideal state.   
  
Dana tilted her head to the side and said, "I'm not   
sure I follow."  
  
"If all these universes are evolving, and evolving   
similarly, exactly what are they evolving toward?"  
  
"The Ideal?"  
  
A light entered his eyes. "The Platonic Ideal.   
The single destination that all of us are trying to   
reach. There may be billions of possibilities,  
billions of universes, billions of versions of us,  
but there is only one right answer."   
  
He stood and offered his hand. "What do you   
think, Waterston?"  
  
"That it sounds an awful lot like fate."  
  
Mulder shook his head. "Not fate. We have free will.   
We make our own choices and mistakes. We can go   
down the wrong paths."  
  
Dana felt his hand tugging at hers, pulling her   
toward him with gentle, constant insistence. As she   
rose to her feet she asked, "And exactly what is the   
right path?"  
  
Mulder shrugged. "I don't know, but I have the   
feeling that I'm supposed to look for it with you."  
  
She didn't say anything. But she didn't pull her hand  
from his as they walked down the beach...and somehow  
Dana Waterston found herself believing that at   
long last she had a sense of direction. She knew  
where she wanted to go and where she needed to stay  
--by his side.   
  
THE END  
  
  
  
  
  
AUTHOR'S END NOTES:  
  
Andre Linde (who is mentioned in the story) is  
an actual person who has written papers detailing  
a theory for multiple inflationary expansions.  
The theory of "evolutionary universes" was proposed  
by Lee Smolin of Penn State University. Both   
theories have been manipulated with a sci-fi/X-File   
slant and are not accurately portrayed in this   
story. Literary license was taken. The real theories   
are nicely summarized and explained in Brian Greene's   
"The Elegant Universe" ...which is an excellent book   
for any non-science professional like myself who is   
interested in learning more about string theory and   
the way it relates to the Theory of Relativity.  
  
The song that the character Mike Stilgoe is   
singing and downloading off of Napster is   
"Black Hole Sun" by Soundgarden.  
  
The song Scully hears in the bar is "The One I've   
Been Waiting For" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.  
  
The songs that are implied to be playing on  
Scully's stereo were "Do What You Have to Do"   
and the acoustical version of "Possession"  
by Sarah McLachlan.  
  
And if I could choose closing credits I would  
probably pick Sarah McLachlan's "Elsewhere."  



End file.
